


Harry Potter and the Next Generation: Book One

by bronzedragon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Next Generation, Next-Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronzedragon/pseuds/bronzedragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of Rose Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy, and Albus Severus Potter at Hogwarts as a new Trio. All is well, but 19 years hasn't been enough to extinguish House prejudices or old rivalries - although it has been enough to forge some surprising new friendships.</p><p>Set in my AU. I'll put up a document detailing the major changes in a nutshell, but the basic changes that matter are that 3 deaths have been changed: Lupin, Tonks, and Fred lived; Bill Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, and Luna Lovegood died. Any couples not mentioned in the Epilogue or immediately post-book-release (Neville/Hannah), along with the resulting children, are non-canon. This is because I started this AU in July 2007, before JKR had published the family trees, and didn't become aware of the family tree until 2008/9ish. </p><p>To be specific, my AU diverges at the bottom of p.635 of the Deathly Hallows hardcover, during "The Battle of Hogwarts" chapter, but the "19 Years Later" epilogue as written could (and did) take place in this universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

            Albus Potter stared out the window of the Hogwarts Express as the station faded from sight, his apprehension gone.

            _I’ll be in Gryffindor,_ he thought. _I’m going to be in Gryffindor._

            The thought gave him heart as he watched the landscape fly past him. A couple more first-years, both nervous-looking and silent, filtered in, taking the seats near him, but they didn’t talk either. Rose, sitting across from him, was buried in a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_.

            _I can choose,_ he thought again. Now that he knew that, he could be excited about going to Hogwarts. It was only a matter of hours before the Sorting Hat would be placed on his head and he could tell it where he wanted to go.

            The trolley came by, and although Ginny had given him a small bag full of Galleons and Sickles to take with him, he didn’t get anything; he was too excited, thinking about the coming feast. James had eaten so much at the first banquet that he had ended up sick, at least according to John Lupin; James himself would never admit to as much.

            “What are you going to do if you’re in Slytherin?”

            Albus turned to see his older brother in the doorway; it was as if thinking about him had made him appear. James had already changed into his Hogwarts robes; he had thrust his chest forward so the scarlet and gold lion was prominently displayed. Standing next to him were several friends of his. Albus knew all of them quite well: Romulus Lupin, the fourth-oldest of the Lupins and the youngest who was at Hogwarts, and Fabian and Gideon Weasley, two of Al’s cousins. It seemed that James had told his friends why Albus was so nervous: Romulus’s hair was flaming scarlet and gold, and both Fabian and Gideon were wearing their Gryffindor robes. Fabian had made an attempt to Charm the lion emblem so it roared, but he hadn’t done it very well; it sounded more like the lion was squeaking. 

            “We’d have to disown you, you know,” James said casually, sliding into the seat opposite Albus; the two first-years he didn’t know, seeing the confident gang of second-years, had disappeared from sight, leaving only Al and Rose in the compartment. Al half-wished he could follow the other first-years out. “Everyone we know’s been in Gryffindor. All of us: Teddy, Victoire, Missy, John, Artie—”

            “Not everyone,” Rose said, looking up from a thick book. “You ought to know better.” She looked to Romulus. “You’re one to talk, Rommy. Your mum was in Hufflepuff.”

            “Well, all the rest of my family’s been Gryffindor,” Rommy said. “Dad, me, Teddy, Missy, and John. And I’ll bet when Trina and Thecla get here next year, they’ll be Gryffindors too.”

            “I’ll bet your parents said they didn’t care where you got Sorted, though.”

            Romulus made a face. “Dad said he didn’t care even if we were Sorted into Slytherin, but I know he didn’t mean it. Mum said she’d kill us if we got Slytherin, although you should’ve seen the look Dad gave her when she said it. After that, she told us she didn’t care, but you know they didn’t mean it. I mean, she’s got Slytherin relatives, so you think she’d know.”

    James raised his eyebrows at Albus. “Everyone we go to school with is in Gryffindor. What’re you going to do if you’re in Slytherin?”

            Albus bit his lip, flinching a little, but then he remembered what his father had said. Feeling a new surge of confidence, he said, “I won’t be in Slytherin. I’ll tell it I don’t want to be there, and it won’t put me there.”

            “And how do you know? The Sorting Hat tells you where you’re going to go – you don’t get to pick.”

            “He’s right, Al,” Rose said. “Do you think anyone would be Sorted into Slytherin if they had the choice?”

            “Wait,” James said, springing to his feet; he was looking outside the compartment. “I think I see someone who would.” He darted outside. “Oi! You! Come here!”

            A moment later, he had reappeared, trailed by a terrified-looking first-year.

            “What House would you be in if you had the choice?” James asked. There was a sharp look on his face; Al didn’t like it. It was the look James got whenever he was in the mood to make fun of Albus.

            Rose’s eyes narrowed; it was clear she recognized the boy, although Albus himself didn’t. He had glimpsed him at the train station, and thought his father might have said something about him, but couldn’t remember what; his memories of King’s Cross were a blur, light and noise and the sound of the train, but Albus hadn’t been thinking about anything except Hogwarts and hadn’t paid attention; instead, his mind had been filled only with the desperate thought, _Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin_.

            “My – my parents were both in Slytherin,” the other first-year stammered, looking fearfully up at James.

            Both Fabian and Gideon also seemed to have recognized the first-year, and were looking at him unpleasantly. “My dad said your dad was a Death Eater,” Fabian said. “That he supported You-Know-Who during the war.”

            The boy’s mouth opened and closed again.

            “Our Uncle Bill got killed in the war by a Death Eater,” James said. “And both Fabian and Gideon’s dads got their ears cut off – Dark Magic.”

            Albus had heard both the stories of how his Uncles Fred and George had each lost an ear during the war: George’s had been cut off by his own namesake; Severus Snape had accidentally cut off George’s ear while trying to save Teddy’s dad from a Death Eater. “A worthy sacrifice,” his Uncle George had said. His Uncle Fred had lost his in the Battle of Hogwarts, although he claimed that his only regret was that it couldn’t have been his other ear, so he and Uncle George could have been identical again. Albus had enough trouble telling them apart as it was.  

            “My – he—” the other boy stammered. His pointed face was pale with fear. Albus couldn’t help but feel sorry for him; he was used to James picking on him, but seeing James picking on someone else was another matter entirely.

            But he couldn’t make James stop. He knew that; he couldn’t stop James from teasing him, let alone James when he got teamed up with all his friends. So he squirmed and tried to sink into his seat, trying to ignore James and this boy, hoping that if he ignored them James would stop and let the other boy go too.

            “Slytherin is where all the Death Eaters came from,” James proclaimed. “And you still want to be in Slytherin?”

            “I – I’m not a – one of them—” The boy looked as if he was going to be ill.

            “Better stand back, James,” Fabian said.

            “Yeah, you don’t want him to be sick on your shoes,” Gideon added.

            Albus slid lower in his seat, wishing he could Vanish himself into nothingness.

            Rose put down her book. “Stop it,” she said, her voice wavering. She looked very clearly bothered by what they were doing, but also sounded more than a little frightened. She didn’t usually stand up to James, either.

            “What – going to get friendly with the pure-blood?” James sneered.

            “Just because someone’s a pure-blood doesn’t mean they’re horrible,” she said. “Unless you want to say that about Granddad and Grandma Weasley – or your Granddad Potter, for that matter.” She began to tick people off on her fingers. “Or Professor Longbottom, or my dad, or your Gran Tonks, Rommy, or—”

            “All right, all right!” snapped James. “But none of them were in Slytherin.”

            The pale-faced boy was edging towards the door of the compartment, clearly hoping for an escape. Fabian and Gideon moved swiftly in front of him, blocking the exit.

            Rose was on her feet, hands on her hips. “Let him go, James. All of you. Or do you want me to tell your parents?”

            Fabian and Gideon shrugged. “Don’t think they would mind, actually,” Fabian said.

            “Yeah, Dad told me to give the Slytherins hell,” Gideon agreed.

            Romulus and James, however, looked distinctly uncomfortable at Rose’s threat. “As soon as we get to Hogwarts, I’ll send owls to both your dads,” she said. “Do you really think that Remus would be happy to hear that you’re picking on first-years, Rommy? Or that Uncle Harry would be happy if he hears you’re tormenting pure-blooded first-years, James?”

            “You wouldn’t, Rosie,” James said, but Rommy Lupin looked ready to back down.

            “I would too,” she said. Albus looked at his cousin admiringly, wishing he had as much courage as she did.

            She’ll be in Gryffindor for sure, he thought. He knew she wouldn’t have to ask the Sorting Hat for anything; it would probably shout out its decision before it even touched her head.

            “I’ll tell Missy as soon as we get there,” she said. “She’s a prefect; she’ll keep an eye on both of you.”

            Rommy made a face. “You wouldn’t.”

            “Oh yes I would,” she said. She looked over to Fabian and Gideon. “No matter what horrible tricks you play on me. I know your dads gave you plenty of stuff to use.”

            “Courtesy of the Weird-Ear Weasleys,” Gideon acknowledged. “Top-notch Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes products, all to show – and use on – everyone else.”

            “Well, I don’t care if I spend the first half of the year sprouting feathers or a tail or anything else. Let him go!”

            Albus relaxed. They would let the other boy go; everything would be over, and James would let him alone. He could deal with the taunts about Slytherin; he could live with everything else if they would only let the other boy go. Whoever he was, he didn’t deserve this.

            “Well,” James said, obviously trying to save face, “we could just let him off with a warning, couldn’t we?”

            Rommy nodded immediately; Rose’s threat had apparently worked on him. Fabian and Gideon looked a little more reluctant, but Fabian finally said, “I guess you could just let him off with a jinx of some sort—”

            James raised his wand, but Rose was quicker. Reaching into her robes, she dropped something; there was a bang and a flash, and unintelligible shouts from both Rose and James. Before Albus could close his eyes, he thought that he saw a jet of greenish-black light fly through the air, and wondered if James had gotten off his jinx anyway.

            When the air cleared, Rose and the frightened boy were both gone. Romulus, Gideon, and Fabian were all coughing; Albus didn’t immediately see James, and wondered if his older brother had gone chasing after Rose and the other boy.

            He heard a groan, and realized with a start that his older brother was lying on the floor. It was only when he looked at his brother’s face that he realized the jinx hadn’t come from James’s wand, but instead had been aimed at him: his face, neck, and arms were covered in little green scales. It looked remarkably like Rose had turned his skin into that of a snake’s.

            “Don’t know if she got you or he did,” Fabian said.

            “Maybe both,” Gideon concurred. “Can’t tell what curse it was.”

    “It was her,” James growled. “He was too scared to do anything.”

    Fabian stood back, scrutinizing the effect with a look that was grudgingly admiring. “I have to say she’s got a good, healthy sense of revenge.”

    “Though maybe not of self-preservation,” Gideon added, grinning; seeing the anger on James’s face, though, the grin faded a little.

    Fabian was still visibly impressed by the curse; it looked very much like he was trying to figure out how to replicate the effect. Albus hoped he didn’t; otherwise, there was a pretty good chance he might spend his first year looking like a snake, even if he wasn’t in Slytherin.

    James’s friends were still talking about the curse. “You look like you could be a baby basilisk, James.”

            “If I was a basilisk, I could’ve killed her by looking at her.”

            “She can’t have had much practice.”  

            “Who knows? Mum taught me a few things before I left last year – a couple good jinxes for bullies is what she said,” Romulus said. “Your Aunt Hermione might’ve let her have some practice.” 

            “Using our own products against us,” Fabian grumbled. “She definitely set off the Decoy Detonator.”

            “Decoy Detonator? Thought that was the Bangflash Bomb for sure, with the light. And it didn’t scuttle away like a Detonator should,” Gideon argued.

            “The door was closed. It wouldn’t have been able to—”

            “Would someone just do the counterjinx?” James snarled.

            “Which one, mate? If we don’t know which one she used—” Fabian began, but Rommy bit his lip, concentrating, and waved his wand. Albus found himself watching from between his fingers: he half-wanted it to go wrong, but didn’t really want to see James’s reaction if it did.

    Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Rommy’s efforts worked; seconds later, extending a hand, Rommy Lupin helped a de-scaled James to his feet.

            James looked grudgingly at his little brother. “Looks like you’re not the one who might be in Slytherin. I never thought little Rosie would be more of a pure-blood-loving prat than you, Al, but—”

            Albus wasn’t listening to his brother. James had lost all interest in tormenting him, though, and had already stormed out of the compartment. Al knew that his brother would probably be looking to have some sort of revenge on their cousin, and he hoped that Rose could find some sort of hiding place on the train that was halfway decent.

            Once his feelings of relief gradually died away as he realized James and his friends weren’t coming back to torment him, he felt another, far more unpleasant feeling rising up in his stomach, a sick, unhappy sensation of guilt.

            _I should have done something,_ he thought. Rose had stood up for the boy; she had kept James from jinxing him, even though it probably meant that James and his friends would probably be slipping Canary Creams into her meals for the next week straight. Albus Potter hadn’t had that courage.

            _I don’t deserve to be in Gryffindor,_ he thought miserably, sinking down into his seat. He could ask the Sorting Hat, but was it possible that it would refuse?

            _It listened to Dad_ , he thought, but he knew that was different: His father was the bravest man he knew. Harry Potter was never scared of anything; comparing himself to his father, Al felt more cowardly than ever.

            _What if it tells me I’m not brave enough?_ He knew he wasn’t. What would the Hat say to him? Would it humiliate him in front of the whole school?

            _I wish I’d said something_ , he thought as the train rolled on, dragging him ever closer to Hogwarts. _Why didn’t I say something?_


	2. Chapter Two

Rose Weasley grabbed the boy by the wrist as she darted out the door. “Come on,” she said to him, running full-tilt down the narrow corridor. She had only had time to jinx James, and Fabian, Gideon, and Rommy might come after them at any moment.

She ran, hoping that the prefects would be patrolling the carriages. She wasn’t disappointed: she quickly found the prefect she had been looking for, a girl with short hair that ran several shades of the color spectrum, mostly in the deep bluish-purples: from vivid magenta bangs to a deep indigo around the nape of her neck. “Missy,” she said.

Artemisia Lupin smiled at her, but the smile faded as she saw how panicked Rose looked. “What is it?” She swallowed. “I – James—Rommy—” Artemisia sighed. “Rommy and James in trouble again? What were they doing this time?”

“They tried to hex him,” she said, seeing Missy look from her to the blond-haired boy and back again and knowing that she knew who Rose meant. “I—” She swallowed, worrying about what Artemisia might say. “I stopped them, but I had to jinx James, and now—”

She needn’t have worried; Artemisia looked grave, but wasn’t angry with her. “Rommy’s going to have to watch himself,” she said. “If he gets one more disciplinary meeting with the Headmistress—” She sighed. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t hex you. The compartment two doors down is empty – you can sit there.” “Empty?” It was the first time the boy had spoken. “How can that compartment be empty? When I got on the train, there weren’t any. I was walking around when—” He turned red and fell silent.

To Rose’s surprise, Artemisia turned as red as the boy. “I cleared it out,” she confessed. “I was just going to get Drew, and—” She swallowed, speaking the next words in a low, embarrassed voice, the words tumbling over one another so that they seemed to be one very long word. “—IthoughtmaybewecouldhaveanhouralonebeforewegottoHogwarts.”

“What?” the boy said, baffled, but Rose shook her head, exasperated. Drew was Drew Boot, a Ravenclaw in his sixth year, the same year as Missy. They had been dating since at least the end of last school year. Drew had even come to the party that the Weasleys held at the Burrow every year to celebrate the anniversary of the Dark Lord’s defeat; to accommodate the children who were at Hogwarts, they usually ended up holding it a solid two months late, but they all knew what the party was for.

“Boys,” she muttered as she pulled the boy past Missy and into the empty compartment. Teddy and Victoire were already snogging, and now it seemed like Missy wanted to snog Drew Boot. She didn’t understand what was wrong with everyone; it was like they got to be in fifth or sixth year and caught some sort of snogging disease.

“Not you,” she said belatedly, realizing that the boy might have taken it wrong.

“Um – oh,” the boy said. He had flushed red again.

“I’m Rose Weasley,” she said, wishing the boy would say something. She thrust her hand at him, hoping to force a response. “I’m sorry about my cousins and Rommy. They’re not usually that horrible.”

The boy didn’t say anything; he just stared at her hand as if she’d proffered a completely alien appendage. “You’re Scorpius Malfoy, aren’t you?” she asked. Her parents had noticed him from across the platform, and her father’s comments about not getting too friendly with him and beating him in every exam remained fresh in her mind.

_I can still probably beat him in exams_ , she thought. _As for the friendliness—well, what was I supposed to do? Let James curse him? I couldn’t just sit there._ She knew her parents didn’t like the Malfoys; she had heard her father make disparaging comments about them whenever the name came up. She didn’t know if what Fabian and Gideon had said was true, though; her parents had never said anything about Scorpius’s father being a Death Eater. They didn’t talk much about Death Eaters and the war in front of their children; at least, her dad didn’t when her mother was around. Sometimes, he would hint about stories of danger and adventure, but even he didn’t often say much.

Scorpius was still silent. “Scorpius, right?” she repeated.

He finally nodded. Rose wished desperately that he would say something. Trying to keep the conversation going was growing increasingly awkward. “It’s all right if you’re in Slytherin. It usually does run in families, doesn’t it? So if both your parents were in Slytherin, it would make sense for you to be there, too.” Still nothing. Rose blew air out from her lips, feeling exasperated. “Albus Severus – that’s my other cousin, the quiet one, he’s much better than James – has his middle name for somebody who was in Slytherin.” She knew her father didn’t like him much, either; she had heard horror stories of Potions lessons and of detentions with a greasy-haired man, although her mother always made him stop if she overheard. “A Headmaster.”

“I know.” Scorpius swallowed. Rose stared at him; it was the first time she had heard him say anything coherent. “My middle name’s Severus, too. My dad said that he – Professor Snape, I mean – was a really good person – that he did something really important for him, that he was better than everyone thought.”

“So you know Slytherin wouldn’t be that bad,” she said brightly. He bit his lip, leaning forward, not looking as if he agreed with her at all. “But you wouldn’t want to be in Slytherin.”

Rose hesitated. She knew what it would mean if the Sorting Hat did put her there: she had seen how all her cousins made fun of Slytherins. “It would be harder for me, because my whole family’s Gryffindor, they’ve always been,” she said. No matter how her father had joked about it, she knew he would think it was horrible. She couldn’t imagine how disappointed he would be, how upset, even angry. “And my dad—”

“My dad would kill me if I was in Gryffindor,” Scorpius confided. “Or Hufflepuff. I think he thinks they’re about as bad.”

Rose remembered everything her dad had said about Hufflepuff and nodded. “Rommy’s mum was in Hufflepuff, but my dad’s always said it was for the leftovers – people who weren’t good enough to go anywhere else.”

“Mine too.” Scorpius looked nervous; he had taken his wand out and was turning it over and over in his fingers. “My dad wants me to be in Slytherin,” he confessed. “I know he does. But I don’t want to go there.”

“Was your dad a—” Rose broke off as she realized that maybe she shouldn’t ask, but Scorpius already seemed to know what she was going to say. He nodded slowly, looking away.

“He was a Death Eater,” he said miserably. “With You-Know-Who. So were both my granddads, and my great-aunt Bella, and – most of my family, really, on both sides. My dad didn’t want to be, though – he told me that he found out it was a mistake after he joined, that he didn’t want to hurt anyone – and he didn’t get in trouble for it after the war. They left You-Know-Who before the end, both my dad and granddad, and my gran wasn’t really in the Death Eaters – although she was pretty close, I think.”

Rose knew better than to ask about his Great-Aunt Bella; she had heard her own family stories about her Gran Weasley killing Bellatrix Lestrange in a duel and had already made the connection. Scorpius finally looked up, meeting Rose’s eyes. “Thank you,” he said. His own eyes were a little red and puffy, though he wasn’t crying. “For standing up to them. I—” He glanced down at his wand, turning it faster and faster; finally, words seemed to spill out of him. “My granddad says that blood purity still matters. He told me not to talk to blood traitors or to Mudbloods. My dad told me it didn’t matter as much, but—” He swallowed. “He still thinks it matters. I know he does. It’s just – he doesn’t want me to get into trouble, either, not like he did.”

“I don’t want to go into Slytherin. Even though it’s where my family was, I don’t want to go there. Everyone knows my dad was a Death Eater – they’ll think I’m going to be a Dark wizard, too.” He looked at her. “You’re going to be with the rest of your family, aren’t you? You want to be in Gryffindor?”

Rose opened her mouth, but closed it again, thinking. She had assumed she was going to be in Gryffindor; that, after all, was where the rest of her family was, where her mother and father had been, and her Weasley grandparents before them. It was the House where all the Lupins and the Weasleys and the Potters were, the House everyone had told her was the best, with the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to the common room and Nearly Headless Nick as the House ghost. She had heard all the Gryffindor stories, about her Uncles Fred and George and the Portable Swamp, and the Marauders, and Professor Longbottom killing Lord Voldemort’s snake with the Sword of Gryffindor; she had grown up knowing that someday she would be in Gryffindor too, following both her parents and all her uncles and her Aunt Ginny and her Granddad and Gran Weasley. She’d heard all her dad’s jokes about having to disinherit her if she wasn’t a Gryffindor, heard all about how Gryffindor had won the House Cup almost every year her parents had been there, and had always thought that she would help win the House Cup for Gryffindor when she got to Hogwarts. Even at King’s Cross, she’d waited for the train with every hope of getting into her parents’ House.

But now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be in Gryffindor, not if it meant being with James and Romulus and Fabian and Gideon. They were the ones who were nearest her year, the ones who she would see most often. “It would be a lot harder for them to give me Canary Creams if we weren’t in the same House,” she murmured. She didn’t want to disappoint her parents, but she knew that they would eventually get over their disappointment; at least, she hoped they would. She looked at Scorpius. “Where would you be Sorted, if you had the choice?”

“Ravenclaw,” he said immediately. “I can’t go into Gryffindor or Hufflepuff – Mum and Dad would throw me out of the house. I don’t think they’d mind Ravenclaw so much. They might be proud of having a smart son.”

“Ravenclaw,” Rose repeated. Ravenclaw didn’t sound so bad; she had often thought that she wouldn’t have been disappointed if the Sorting Hat chose Ravenclaw for her instead of Gryffindor. It sounded like a neat House, and they certainly weren’t known for being evil. “My mum almost got Ravenclaw. She might be proud of that. My dad, too – he’s always bragging to everyone else about how I got all the brains in the family.”

“Do you think we could ask it what we want? Convince it, somehow?” Rose was about to shake her head when she remembered how confident Al had been when he had spoken to James. _I’ll tell it where I want to go, and it won’t put me in Slytherin_ , he had said. He hadn’t been that confident on the platform.

_Did somebody tell him?_ she wondered. She had seen her Uncle Harry telling Al something before he got on the train, but she hadn’t been able to tell what. “I guess we could see,” she said carefully, realizing that, as she said it, she was making a promise to abandon the rest of her family for a new House. It was more than a little scary.

But it also excited her. _It’ll make me different,_ she thought. Her dad was proud of how brainy she was; once she had gotten her wand, he had let her practice with it, delighted with how quickly she had picked up new spells. She already had the better part of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One completely memorized, and her mother had always been able to help if she had trouble. Neither of them seemed to care much about breaking the Reasonable Decree for the Restriction of Underage Sorcery, particularly as Hermione’s position in the Department of Magical Law meant that Rose couldn’t get into all that much trouble. “Maybe,” she said, and Scorpius seemed to take it as a promise.

“You would—” Scorpius’s face brightened. “You’ll try to be in Ravenclaw, too?”

“If you do,” she replied, then paused. “But my dad’s a blood traitor and my mum’s a Muggle-born. You don’t care?”

He shook his head vehemently. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be stuffed in one of the baggage compartments, hexed to death.”

The train shuddered to a halt. Rose hadn’t even noticed Hogwarts appearing over the horizon, but now she could see out the window: atop a nearby mountain, a giant castle loomed across a dark lake.

“We’re here!” she said, smiling at Scorpius. He smiled back.


	3. Chapter Three

Al Potter didn’t see anyone he knew as he stepped off the train; it seemed that he was swept up in a crowd of people, black-robed students moving this way and that; everyone else seemed to know what to do, and he felt frightened and lost—

            “Firs’ years, firs’ years right here!” Al recognized the voice, and he brightened as he saw a massive man, swinging a lantern, making his way towards him.

            “Hey there, Al!” Rubeus Hagrid smiled brightly at him. “Right here!”

            Other students were congregating nearby; Al caught a flash of red hair and saw Rose standing with the boy who James had been tormenting; he made his way over to them.

            “I’m sorry,” he said to the boy, choking out the words. “I should’ve done something—”

            “It’s all right,” the slight blonde boy replied; he didn’t seem to hold a grudge.

            “This is Scorpius,” Rose said. “Scorpius, this is my cousin Albus, but most of the time we just call him Al.”

            “I hope you get into whatever House you want,” Al said to him. He looked to Rose, thinking of how brave she had been on the train. “I know you will.”

            Rose flushed bright pink and suddenly became very interested in her shoes; before Al could wonder about it, he heard Hagrid say, “Firs’ years follow me! Watch your step!”

            They stumbled down a narrow trail; Al nearly tripped once, and found himself grasping the sleeve of his nearest neighbor for help, a brown-haired girl who nearly tripped with him before shaking him off. “Sorry,” he gulped as they rounded a bend in the path.

            “Look there! Jus’ round the bend!” Hagrid shouted. “Hogwarts – that’s it!”

            Al gasped; the narrow path had opened suddenly, the lake appearing directly in front of them. Beyond the lake was the castle in all its glory, the turrets spiraling up into the sky, the windows sparkling as brightly as the stars.

            “Four to a boat!” Hagrid called. Albus bundled in with Scorpius and Rose; another boy, this one tall and dark-haired, climbed in after them.

            “Everyone in? FORWARD!” Hagrid was in a little boat at their head, still holding his lantern.

            For a moment, Albus thought about introducing himself to the dark-haired boy, but then they moved forward towards the castle, and everyone became quiet: it was as someone had Silenced the entire class of first-years. All of them stared at the great castle, spellbound by its majesty.

            Hogwarts, Albus thought. He could imagine the Great Hall, imagine the feast that awaited, imagine the moment the Sorting Hat would call out his House.

            He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear Hagrid’s cry of “Heads down!” and didn’t duck as the curtain of ivy approached, but Scorpius tugged on his sleeve and he lowered his head in time.

            “Thanks,” Albus said as they came to a halt, the boats stopping at an underground harbor. Their boat stopped, but only the dark-haired boy who hadn’t introduced himself climbed out eagerly.

            “Al, Rose, what’re you waitin’ for?” Hagrid asked. Hagrid’s friendly smile shook Al out of his frozen pose, and he climbed from the boat onto the gravel. Rose and Scorpius followed him, but he noticed that they were no faster than he: Scorpius looked just as nervous as he did, while Rose’s face was a mask except for her wide eyes.

            “It’s okay,” he told Scorpius, knowing why the other boy had to be nervous. “My dad said Slytherin’s not _that_ bad.”                   

            Scorpius tried to smile back, but the smile failed as they trudged up the passage and towards the front door. Al felt bad for him, but didn’t know what he could say to comfort him; he was just as nervous as Scorpius. Before he could think of anything, they were on the green grass in front of the castle, with Hagrid already banging on the door.

            The door opened; a friendly, round face that was very familiar to Al greeted them. It had much the same effect as seeing Hagrid had earlier that night: Al brightened, his excitement overcoming his worry once more.

            “Ne-Professor Longbottom!” he exclaimed, remembering what James had said at the train station: he couldn’t call Neville by his first name, not at school.

            “Al!” Neville said, smiling. “Starting your first year! And Rose!”

            Rose tried to smile back, but it was the same sort of half-choked smile Scorpius had given Al earlier.

            “I’ll take them in, Hagrid, thanks,” Neville said. As he ushered them in, he said, “Professor Hagrid’s been teaching Care of Magical Creatures classes since I was at Hogwarts.”

            A number of the other students were staring, wide-eyed, at Neville; Neville didn’t seem to notice. “You won’t be seeing much of him until third year, though, that’s when you pick what extra classes you want to take. I teach Herbology, so you’ll be seeing me starting Monday, in the greenhouses.”

            Albus heard the roar of the students in the Great Hall; his heart raced as he thought of James and the other Gryffindors waiting for the Sorting, his nervousness returning. They didn’t have to face the Great Hall yet, though; Neville ushered them into a small stone chamber that was completely empty.

            “I’m here to tell you what to expect,” Neville said. “Welcome to Hogwarts! You’re going to be spending the next seven years here, so it’ll get to be like home. Before you can take a seat, though, you’ve got to find out what House you’re going to be in. To do that, we do something called the Sorting Ceremony. Now, I know that if you’re from a Wizarding family, your brothers and sisters probably told you something about fighting giants or coming up with a spell – and if you never had any idea you were magic until your Hogwarts letter came, you’ve got no idea anyway, but that’s all right. All you’ve got to do is try on a hat. It’ll put you into another sort of family: your family here at Hogwarts, students who are like you. You’ll have classes with your House, eat meals with them, and spend a lot of time in your House common room. Most of your friends – although not all of them – will be in your House. The Sorting Hat will decide which of the four Houses you’re going to go into.”

            A chubby little girl in the corner of the room had one hand firmly up. Neville looked at her. “What is it?”

            “Is it true that you pulled a sword out of the Sorting Hat and used it to kill You-Know-Who’s snake during the Battle of Hogwarts? My parents say you did.”

            Neville blushed. “I – well—”

            She put both her hands on her hips. “Well, did you?”

            Reluctantly, Neville nodded. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “It’s been almost twenty years, and it’s not important.”

            “Not important!” another boy exclaimed. “You faced You-Know-Who himself! I’ve got your Famous Wizard card!”  

            “The war’s over and done, and it – well, what matters now is that everyone gets Sorted,” Neville said, looking somewhere between embarrassed and flustered; his ears were bright crimson. “You put on the Sorting Hat, and—”

            “—what if a sword falls out of it and knocks me on my head?” the boy asked.  

            “It won’t,” Neville said, sighing. “You’ll try it on, that’s all, and it’ll talk to you about where you want to go and why. Then it’ll decide. Sometimes, it takes a long time; don’t be worried. I remember, it seemed like the Hat was going to take forever when I put it on. Other times, it makes a decision more quickly. It doesn’t matter; you’re all going to be put in one of the Houses. The Hat’s never sent anyone home because it couldn’t decide where to put them – although, trust me, I was worried that it might do that with me.”

            Albus blinked. He couldn’t believe that Neville had worried about where to be Sorted.

            First Dad, now Neville? he asked himself.

            “The Houses are Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Each of the Houses has its own history, and every House has well-known witches and wizards – the last four Heads of Hogwarts have all been from different Houses.”

            “Whenever you succeed, it’s good for the rest of your House – you’ll earn House points, and the House with the most points at the end of the year will win the House Cup. Even a first-year can win the Cup for their House, so try to do your best. Any questions?”

            “Are you sure a sword’s not going to come out of the hat?” the boy who had been worried earlier repeated.

            Neville smiled. “I’m sure.” With those words, he disappeared, leaving Albus to think about the impending Sorting, now looming closer than ever.

            _Just ask it_ , he kept telling himself. _Just ask it_. He hoped that the Hat wouldn’t reject him; what if it saw how quiet he had been on the train and told him he didn’t deserve to be in Gryffindor?

            _What if it puts me in Slytherin?_ he asked himself again, hoping against hope that his father was right and that it wouldn’t. It mattered so much to him.

            Around him, he could hear murmured conversations; the pudgy little girl was chattering on about how Professor Longbottom had fought in the last war and how the Ministry of Magic had given him the Order of Merlin, First Class, for bravery after the war was over, and didn’t anyone else know that—

            Professor Longbottom returned, and the first-years fell silent. “I need everyone to get in a line and follow me. They’re ready for the Sorting.”

            Al got in line in front of Rose; in front of him stood the dark-haired boy who had ridden in the boat with them. They crossed the hall and filed in through the open doors of the Great Hall: Al’s mouth nearly fell open as he took in the Hall around him. He had heard his parents and James describe it, but this was amazing: the candles floating in the air, the bewitched ceiling, the long tables of students around them. He tried to keep himself from looking over to the Gryffindor table at the far end, from looking at James and Fabian and Gideon and Rommy. Instead, he looked at the teachers’ table at the front of the room: Hagrid was already there, and his familiar, beaming face put Al at ease.

            He couldn’t keep his stomach from lurching once more as he heard Rose whisper, “There it is.” His gaze followed the gaze of everyone else in the room, and he found himself staring at the Sorting Hat itself: battered, beaten, and dirty, but the most important thing in that room, sitting atop a three-legged stool. As he watched, a rip near the brim twitched, then began to move, singing:

 

            _Though ripped and frayed_

_And not quite clean,_

_There is more to me_

_Than what you’ve seen._

_Long, long ago, the founding four_

_Divided up each class_

_But what to do when they were gone?_

_What then would come to pass?_

_It was then that brave, bold Gryffindor_

_Hatched a cunning plan._

_He took his hat right off his head_

_So thus it all began!_

_Now every year I look inside_

_The heads of each of you_

_To see which virtues you possess_

_And decide what I shall do._

_Each founder sought only those_

_Who minds were a reflection_

_Of their own, and so they_

_Gave me this direction._

_For Ravenclaw, the intelligent_

_Were the ones she wished to teach;_

_For Slytherin, the cunning,_

_Those who grasped beyond their reach;_

_For Hufflepuff, the loyal and hard-working,_

_Always just and fair;_

_For Gryffindor, the boldest that could_

_Be found anywhere._

_I will look inside your head_

_And tell where you belong._

_With that, I now make the end_

_Of this year’s Sorting Song!_

            There was a good deal of applause from the four tables; even some of the first-years clapped. Al didn’t join in; he was too worried.

            “Just don’t forget to take it off when you’re done with it,” Neville said in a low tone to the first-years. A few of them giggled, but it only added to Al’s worries.

            It’ll let me choose. It’ll let me choose, there’s nothing to be worried about, it’ll let me choose, it won’t put me in Slytherin, he thought, but his stomach didn’t seem to be listening; it was doing flip-flops. His heart, too, wasn’t paying any attention to his brain; it was racing.

            “Adams, Amy,” he heard Neville say. The chubby girl who had importuned Professor Longbottom stared nervously at the hat for a moment before taking a step forward and picking up the hat.

            “GRYFFINDOR!” the hat bellowed. It had barely touched her head. The Gryffindor table let out a loud cheer; Albus didn’t dare look at them. It seemed to him that the Gryffindor table was half-Potters, Weasleys, and Lupins; he wondered if they would jeer him if he got Sorted into another House.

            “Burbage, Faith!”

            This time, a blonde girl with bright blue eyes walked nervously up to the stool; again, the decision was nearly instantaneous.  

            “RAVENCLAW!”

            The table to his left let out a cheer.

            “Carver, Dougal!”

            “HUFFLEPUFF!”

            “Derrick, Derek!”

            There were a few snickers at the name, but the boy glared fiercely at everyone who had laughed, even the sixth and seventh years. Once more, the hat made its decision almost instantly.

            “SLYTHERIN!”

            “Wow,” he heard one of the Hufflepuffs at the table on his right-hand side say. “The Sorting’s really going fast this year, isn’t it?”

            “I wouldn’t complain. The sooner it’s over, the sooner we can eat,” one of his friends pointed out.

            _What if I don’t have time to ask?_ Al wondered, wringing his hands. He felt a little better as he watched “Durbin, Aristophanes,” get Sorted into Hufflepuff; Aristophanes sat on the stool for over a full minute before the hat said anything, Aristophanes’s eyes squeezed tightly shut the entire time.

            _Why couldn’t my last name be something other than Potter?_ _Something earlier in the alphabet. Or maybe later._ He wasn’t sure if he wanted to get the Sorting over with quickly or delay it for as long as possible. More names were being called out, and he was torn between wishing and imagining that he was already at the Gryffindor table and wanting to prolong the moment before his Sorting forever, just in case the Hat did call out Slytherin. He glanced back at the thick oak doors; there was no running away.

            He caught Scorpius doing the same thing and felt a little better. That was what decided him: he wished that he, like Rose, was a Weasley, so that he could have gone last. He wanted the extra time to work up some courage; maybe if he was feeling braver by then, the Sorting Hat would think he belonged in Gryffindor.

            “Macmillan, Karen!”

            “HUFFLEPUFF!”

            He saw Scorpius turn a shade paler; he looked almost as pale as the translucent ghosts that dotted each table. As Al watched, Scorpius darted a glance at Rose, who smiled and gave a little nervous nod. Again, Al didn’t know what Rose had to be nervous about; he knew the Hat would barely have to touch her head to declare her a Gryffindor.

            “Malfoy, Scorpius!”

            Scorpius walked forward like a condemned prisoner. He stopped in front of the stool for a minute, hesitating before taking a deep breath, sitting firmly on the stool, and slamming the hat down onto his head. He was concentrating deeply, and it looked to Al like his lips were moving, although he couldn’t tell what Scorpius was saying.

            A few seconds passed. A few seconds more, and Scorpius’s face seemed to relax slightly as the Sorting Hat shouted “RAVENCLAW!”

            Al finally dared to dart a glance over at the Gryffindor table. James, Rommy, Fabian, and Gideon were all sitting with their mouths half-open. “Is it sure?” he could see James mouthing to Romulus.

            Scorpius didn’t notice; he happily walked over to the Ravenclaw table, which was already cheering him. He sat down, looking half-stunned, while half a dozen Ravenclaws shook his hand and patted him on the back.

            “Nott, Kevin!”

            The silent, slim, dark-haired boy who had ridden in the boat with Al stepped forward. This time, the Sorting Hat took quite a while to make its decision: perhaps thirty seconds passed before it called out “SLYTHERIN!”

            “Oldham, Medea,” also went into Slytherin after several long seconds, as did “Orville, Gorgo,” and Albus could only pray that he wasn’t going to continue the trend.

            “Potter, Albus!” Neville smiled at Al as Al forced himself to step out of the line. He was four steps from the stool, then three, then two. Swallowing, he forced himself to take the last step; then, he picked up the hat gingerly, almost as if he half-expected it to bite him, before placing it on his head.

            The brim slid down, covering his eyes and blocking his view of the rest of the Hall. That was good; it took away the sensation of having everyone in the room staring at him.

            “Ah,” the Hat said, “Albus Severus Potter. Not quite as difficult to Sort as your father, I think…you’re a good friend, yes, quite loyal…and intelligent, as well…although there certainly isn’t much of a tendency towards wanting power or fame for their own sakes…although…”  

            Al panicked at hearing the Hat’s “although,” knowing that it might lead to something like “although I think I’ll put you in Slytherin anyway.” _Not Slytherin,_ he thought, timid but insistent. _Please not Slytherin._

            “Not Slytherin?” the Hat asked. “Of course not.”

            _Gryffindor_ , Al thought, feeling relieved. _I want to go in Gryffindor, if I’m good enough. My…my dad said I could ask you where I wanted to go…_

            “Of course you can!” the Sorting Hat said delightedly. “So if that’s what you want…”

            _Wait_ , Albus thought. _Am I good enough for Gryffindor? Is that where you were going to put me? You won’t just put me there because I asked?_

            “There’s plenty of good Gryffindor material here,” the Hat replied, “and I thought that’s where I’d put you in the end. But asking shows all the more that you belong there. And because of that, you’ll be in…GRYFFINDOR!”

            Albus’s face lit up with delight as he heard the final word shouted to the rest of the Great Hall. He was so excited that he stood up and actually did run away with the Sorting Hat still on his head, and had to run back from where he was about to take his seat at Gryffindor table, his face as crimson as the banners above his House’s table.

            “I knew you’d get Gryffindor,” he heard John Lupin say from one end of the table.

            “Of course he would!” James said. “He’s my brother, isn’t he?” Looking back to Al, he grinned and hissed in a low voice, “Although you _could_ have been in Slytherin, you know.”

            Al wasn’t going to be bothered by him. _I got Gryffindor,_ he thought. _I got Gryffindor!_

            The rest of the names passed him by in excitement. All that was left was to wait for Rose, and the rest of Gryffindor House seemed sure that she would be joining them anyway.

            “I don’t even know why they make her try that stupid hat on. They ought to just put her in Gryffindor and be done with it,” Rommy said.

            “Yeah, anyone who would be brave enough to hex you ought to be put in Gryffindor automatically, James,” Fabian added.

            “Listen – she’s next!” Gideon said.

            “Wow. She’s the last one – no Zabinis or Zellers this year,” Fabian said, just as Professor Longbottom called out, “Weasley, Rose.” 


	4. Chapter Four

            Rose took the time to survey the room before she stepped forward again. She looked first to the Gryffindor table, where all her relatives and friends, from Victoire to James, sat waiting expectantly. She knew they all thought she was going to be in Gryffindor. She looked from the banners to all the students wearing the red-and-gold lion to the transparent figure of Nearly Headless Nick, thinking of the stories she had heard: of the Fat Lady, of Gryffindor Tower and its common room, of how comfortable it would be to be with a House she already felt like she knew, with people who were already her family.

            But then she looked back to her left, to the Ravenclaw table, and saw Scorpius staring at her half-expectantly, half-fearful.

            _I made a promise,_ she told herself. _I can’t leave him alone._ She had already decided what House she was going to try to be put into when she had nodded to him before his Sorting.

            _Would you really want to be with James, anyway?_ she asked herself, stepping forward. Her decision was made; she was confident enough to sit on the stool without betraying any hint of fear, pulling the hat on.

            Immediately, she heard a small voice in her ear. “Weasley, eh. All the Weasleys I’ve ever Sorted have gone to Gryffindor. And you’d make a fine Gryffindor…plenty of courage, brave and bold, ready for fame…”

            _I’d like to go to Ravenclaw,_ she thought, _if it’s not too much trouble._

            “You do have a fine mind. Brains and wit…plenty of thirst for knowledge, to be sure. But are you sure? I had a good deal of difficulty placing your mother, you know, and I was ready to put her into Ravenclaw until she said she’d prefer Gryffindor.”

            _I’m sure. Please,_ she thought. _I’ve got a friend waiting for me at the Ravenclaw table. I can’t let him down._

            “Loyal? Are you sure you shouldn’t be a Hufflepuff?”

            _I’m sure I’m not a Hufflepuff,_ she thought quickly.  

            “Yes, well, Hufflepuff wouldn’t be as good a choice as Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, certainly…are you sure about what you want? Ravenclaw is a very good choice, but I wouldn’t discount Gryffindor, either; you’re very courageous, and there’s quite a lot of sheer nerve here. It’s a difficult decision, very difficult, but...where do you want to go? That’s what matters most, you know.”

            Rose glanced once more at the Gryffindor table. She knew only mere seconds had passed; they didn’t yet know anything was wrong, that she was being difficult. She could still change her mind: abandon Scorpius to the Ravenclaws, join her family at the Gryffindor table, make her parents proud and her relatives happy.

            But she wouldn’t.

            _Ravenclaw, please,_ she thought again, and heard the Hat say in reply, “You’ll do well there, certainly,” before it bellowed aloud, “RAVENCLAW!”

            For a moment, there was dead silence: the Gryffindors had all been prepared to cheer and were now completely stunned, while the Ravenclaws looked surprised. When she looked over at their table, though, there was one face that was entirely welcoming: Scorpius had a look of delighted astonishment spread over his face.

            Then, the Ravenclaws began to cheer, Rose went over to their table, and she could hear James shouting clearly from the other side of the room, “HAS THAT HAT GONE COMPLETELY OFF ITS ROCKER?” She saw Al, looking completely and utterly dumbfounded, but she could not meet his gaze.

            Instead, she turned and went to her own House table, taking her seat next to Scorpius. From the Gryffindor table across the room, she could hear Fabian and Gideon chanting “Re-Sort! Re-Sort!” and James, still shouting, “Did someone Confund that bloody hat?”

            Rose was glad that there was no one to be Sorted after her; she would have hated to make anyone else wait, or have forced anyone else to be Sorted amidst the chaos that was now going on. The Gryffindor table was still shouting; some of the Ravenclaws around her were calling back: some trying to cheer louder to drown out the Gryffindors, others egging them on, taunting them over losing Rose.

            “Quiet!” Neville was shouting; the Head of Ravenclaw House, tiny, aged Professor Flitwick, was waving his arms at the Ravenclaws, trying to make himself heard above the din. Neville was louder, but the Ravenclaws silenced themselves sooner than the Gryffindors; it was several long minutes before the table at the far right side of the hall managed to resume any semblance of order. Once he had gotten his House to be quiet, Neville took both the Hat and the stool and put them away.

            The Great Hall remained silent after the Gryffindors had quieted down; the Headmistress had risen to her feet. Hestia Jones was red-cheeked and black-haired, and there was a kindly look in her face that made Rose like her instantly.

            “Everyone, thank you for your attention,” the Headmistress said. “I know you’re all hungry, so I won’t say much. Simply this: I hope that you enjoy your time here at Hogwarts, and that you all remain friends with one another, no matter which House you have been Sorted into.” She looked pointedly toward the Gryffindor table, but James, at least, didn’t seem daunted; he raised his hand.

            “No, Mr. Potter, we are not going to ‘re-do’ the Sorting,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “The Sorting Hat’s decision is final.”

            James lowered his hand, abashed, and Professor Jones said, “And now, for the feast!”

            Food appeared on the table. Rose had heard James describe the Hogwarts feasts, and she had never believed him: the meals had always sounded far grander than anything she had seen. Now, though, she knew James was right: ham, chicken, roast beef, steak, even a whole smoked salmon: all were spread out on plates that extended down the table. Chips with the choice of salt and pepper, vinegar, mayonnaise, or ketchup, roasted potatoes, mashed potatoes with gravy, asparagus, carrots: anything and everything she could have possibly wanted to eat was all spread out before her.

            Eagerly, she filled her plate. The Ravenclaw prefects were herding the first-years toward one another, switching seats so that they were mostly sitting together. There were perhaps a dozen others, all looking anxious but pleased. Scorpius sat next to her, but other first-years now surrounded her.

            “My dad’s going to be so happy,” a blonde-haired girl was saying. It took a moment, but Rose remembered her: one of the first to be Sorted, Faith Burbage. “All my family’s been in Ravenclaw for generations and generations.”

            “Is it a family thing, then, Houses?” A nervous-looking girl with short brown hair was biting her lip. “I’m Muggle-born, see. I don’t know anything about this. I’ve been trying to read _Hogwarts, A History_ – there was a man at Flourish and Blotts who said I should get it, but it doesn’t say—”

            “Not always,” Faith said. “I was so worried!”

            “Plus, sometimes your mum’s in one House, and your dad’s in another, and they both want you to be in their House – I told them I can’t split myself in two!” another boy exclaimed, having overheard the conversation from several seats down. “My dad’s going to be happy, but my mum – she was in Gryffindor.”

            “Do you have a brother or a sister? Maybe they could go in Gryffindor once they get here,” a dark-haired boy near Faith suggested.  

            “Nope, I’m an only child.” The other boy hesitated. “I’m Rupert Harcourt. What about you?”

            “Hortensius Goldstein,” the dark-haired boy replied.

            “Hortensius?” Rupert goggled.

            Hortensius flushed a little. “My parents named me after my mum’s dad. Hortensius Hamish Goldstein – I can’t even get a good nickname out of it.”

            Faith shuddered. “I’ve got a sister named Prudence, and I thought that was bad.”

            “What about everyone else?” the Muggle-born girl asked. “I’m Emma.” She even sounded nervous about that, as if she thought everyone who belonged at Hogwarts had a funny-sounding name.

            “I’m Scorpius,” Scorpius said. “My mum said it’s a traditional family name. I don’t mind it.”

            “Are all wizard names that bad?” Emma asked.

            “I’m just Rose,” Rose said, “and my cousins are James, Lily—”

            “—and Albus Severus,” Drew Boot pointed out, leaning down the table. “Plus your brother’s name is Hugo, which I don’t think anyone would consider ‘normal.’ Would one of you please pass me the pumpkin juice?”

            Faith handed it to Rose, who passed it over to Drew; he grinned. “Surprised to be in Ravenclaw, Rose? Half your family looked like they’d been Stunned when they announced it – I think they were ready to jinx that hat into oblivion, honestly.” He glanced at Scorpius, who was sitting next to her. “A Weasley and a Malfoy in Ravenclaw House. What are your parents going to think?”

            Scorpius turned a shade paler and nearly knocked over his pumpkin juice; Rose bit her lip. “I – I hope they don’t mind,” she stammered, but Drew just shrugged.

            “I was only joking.” With that, he handed the half-empty flagon of pumpkin juice back to Rose and turned to his friends, all older students who had mostly lost interest in the first-years.

            “Yeah, that is weird,” Hortensius said. “Gryffindor House is all Weasleys and Lupins and Potters, now – how’d you get left out?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but looked to Scorpius. “And your family’s always been in Slytherin. That’s where all the old pure-blood families go.”

            “Not all of them!” Faith Burbage squawked indignantly.

            “Well, most of them,” Hortensius amended. “And Malfoys always go Slytherin.”

            “I don’t think our parents will mind,” Rose said firmly. Scorpius still looked too uncomfortable to say much; Drew’s comment about their families had clearly gotten Scorpius worried. Rose was worried too, but she wasn’t about to show it. “After all, Ravenclaw’s for people who’ve got brains, right? So it shouldn’t be a bad thing that we’re here.”

            “Yeah,” Hortensius agreed. “If I got Hufflepuff, I think I would’ve jumped in the lake.”

            “Or Slytherin,” agreed Faith. “They don’t look very nice. And that Gorgo girl tried to trip me when we were coming off the train.”

            “Medea showed me how to play Gobstones on the train, and she’s in Slytherin,” Emma said. “I don’t think I’d want to be in Gryffindor, though. I know that the author of _Hogwarts, A History_ thinks they’re the best House, but some of the second-years on the train told me that the giant squid would drown me during the boat ride if I wasn’t magic enough.”

            “The author of _Hogwarts, A History_ was a Gryffindor, so I wouldn’t believe everything they say,” Faith said. “Everybody knows that Ravenclaw’s the best.”

            _Not everybody_ , Rose thought, glancing over at the Gryffindor table. Some of them were still talking about the Sorting: she knew because every now and then they would throw glances her way and shake their heads in disbelief. She tried to ignore them.

            Dinner finished, and the desserts appeared: strawberry shortcake, pies of twenty different flavors, Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans, chocolate mousse, ice-cream sundaes, cream-filled éclairs, carrot cake…Rose hardly knew what to choose. She took a little from five different platters.

            By the time that Professor Jones rose from her seat, Rose was stuffed and more than a little sleepy. She could barely pay attention as the Headmistress spoke about not going into the Forbidden Forest, not using magic or anything from Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes in the corridors between classes (she saw Fabian and Gideon snickering openly at that), and something about Quidditch trials, which she didn’t care about. Her father had tried to teach her and Hugo how to play Quidditch, but Rose wasn’t particularly interested and Hugo wasn’t particularly good. She had always liked playing Shuntbumps when she was little, but Quidditch with its hoops and Bludgers and Golden Snitch had never held much interest for her. Hugo had never even been good at that: he was mostly hopeless when it came to brooms. Their dad had made Hugo a fervent Chudley Cannons fan, though, which had at least been some consolation to him.

            “That is all. Welcome back to Hogwarts, and good night!” Professor Jones said. With that, all the students stood up. For a moment, Rose felt lost, people pushing past her, but then she heard a girl’s voice calling, “All Ravenclaw first-years, this way!”

             Rose followed the prefect, Scorpius, Faith, Hortensius, and Emma crowding in around her. She saw other first-years heading in different directions: from across the Great Hall, she caught sight of Al for a brief moment, but only managed to flash a quick smile at him before he disappeared.

            “What’s your name?” she heard Emma ask the prefect.

            “Tullia Belby,” the prefect replied as they ascended a staircase. “Watch the fifth step. It tends to catch your foot,” she cautioned as they started to follow her up. Rose did, but Hortensius got his foot stuck halfway through the step, and Tullia had to stop and help him get it out. Once, Emma, gawking at the moving portraits, nearly fell off a staircase when it swung out, moving, but Faith reached out and caught her.

            Finally, they came to a staircase. Rose wondered what the Ravenclaw common room would look like; she knew it couldn’t look like the Gryffindor one, but she didn’t know what else a common room ought to look like.

            They went up and up and up, around the spiraling staircase, until finally they reached a door that had no handle, with a bronze knocker shaped like an eagle.

            Tullia reached out and knocked sharply; to Rose’s surprise, the eagle’s beak opened and a soft voice came out of it. “Why did Rowena Ravenclaw prize intelligence in her students above any of the qualities the other Founders preferred?”

            Rose’s eyes narrowed; she hadn’t been expecting this. “Gryffindors use a password,” she whispered.

            “So does Slytherin,” Scorpius whispered back.

            “Whenever you knock, you’ll have to answer a question to get inside,” Tullia said. “If you get it wrong, you’ll have to wait for someone else to provide the correct answer, although if you wait long enough, you can usually work it out for yourself. The eagle makes you explain, though – so no guessing.”

            The prefect grinned. “The year I came, Venant Boothby was prefect. He answered the question, shut the door, and left all the first-years outside to work out a new question.” Seeing the stricken looks that passed across each of the first-years’ faces, she said, “Don’t worry. Seeing as I spent half that first night out on this step, I’m not going to do the same to you. But I’d recommend making a few friends – particularly ones who are good at working out the password questions. Usually, there’ll be one or two of you who figure it out before the rest.” Turning back to the eagle, she said, “To answer your question: courage without intelligence is mere foolhardiness; loyalty without the intelligence of knowing who to be loyal to is to blindly follow; and to have ambition without knowing how to get ahead in life will get you nowhere.”

            “Wordy, but acceptable,” the eagle said.

            “Some questions require a wordy answer,” Tullia replied crossly.

            “But not all,” the eagle said as the door swung open.

            Rose gasped as she entered the common room. It was a wide, circular room, airy and magnificent. There were giant arched windows all around the walls, which were hung with blue and bronze silks, adding to the effect. It was dark, but Rose couldn’t wait to see what the view would look like in the morning.

 _The Gryffindors have a tower, too, but I never heard James describe anything like this,_ she thought, staring.

            “Look up,” Scorpius said, tugging on her sleeve.

            She did, and took another deep breath of astonishment: the ceiling reminded her of the Great Hall’s ceiling, midnight blue and dotted with painted, sparkling gold stars that seemed to twinkle down on them. The carpet, too, was midnight blue, and looked soft. Older students sat at tables and in comfortable chairs around the room, some reading, others chatting or playing chess. There was a tall statue of a beautiful woman in a niche on the wall, with a single door next to it.

            “Follow me, please,” the prefect said, ushering them through the door. There were two staircases behind it. “Girls to the left, boys to the right.”

            Rose followed Emma, Faith, and four other girls up the left-hand staircase and into the first-year girls’ dormitory: there were seven four-poster beds there, all with curtains made of the same blue-and-bronze silk that had adorned the common room.

            She wanted to talk to the other girls, but was too tired, and fell asleep before she could mumble anything beyond “Good night.” 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that, unlike JKR, I did work with a real calendar for dates - in the Potterverse, they always leave on September 1st but term also always begins the next day, on a Monday (which is impossible.) This is why there's the weekend gap between the Next Generation's arrival at Hogwarts and the beginning of classes (which would normally be the next day, but in this case would actually fall on a Saturday, so I compromised by making the Hogwarts Express leave on the usual date but reserving the start of classes for a Monday. In future books, assuming I get that far, if the day they'd start classes falls on a weekday, then the start of term will be that weekday rather than a Monday.)

            Albus Potter felt mildly guilty for the rest of the night. He was overwhelmingly happy to have been Sorted into Gryffindor, but most of his family’s conversation wasn’t about him; instead, they were all talking about Rose.

            “I can’t believe it!” James exclaimed for what seemed to Al like the fortieth time; he had started as soon as the feast had begun, and they were now on dessert. “It put Rose in Ravenclaw? With those bores? And with a Malfoy in her House? It’s almost as bad as being in Slytherin.”

            “The Sorting Hat’s never wrong, James,” Artemisia Lupin reminded him from the end of the table. “It’ll have had its own reasons for what it did.”

            “It can look inside peoples’ heads, you know,” Artemisia’s brother John chimed in, his mouth half-full of strawberry shortcake. “Probably knows more about Rose than you do. If it says she’ll be happier in Ravenclaw, she will be.” John was the Lupins’ third-oldest child, a fourth-year who tended to be quieter and more serious than most of his siblings.

            “Don’t sound like such a know-it-all, John,” Rommy said sourly. “Rose should’ve been in Gryffindor.”

            One of Al’s fellow Gryffindors leaned over. “What was all the fuss about?” he whispered. Al wished he had paid more attention during the Sorting: aside from Amy Adams, the very first student to be Sorted, he didn’t know the names of any of the other first-years in his House. “I don’t understand.”

            “It’s my cousin Rose,” Al said. “She got put in Ravenclaw.”

            “Rose? That last girl who was Sorted? The one everyone was yelling about?”

            “Of course,” another boy snorted. “Did you see our table making a racket over anyone else?”

            “But why?”

            “She was supposed to come here,” Al said. “I mean, everyone thought she’d be here. Our whole family’s been in Gryffindor, and Rose—” He glanced over at her, sitting and chatting with the rest of the Ravenclaw table, not looking upset or unhappy in the least. “—she’s braver than I am.”

            “Well, she must have been smarter than she is brave,” the boy who had snorted said. He had a thin, gaunt face that looked unpleasant; Al decided he didn’t like him very much. “We’ll see when we have class with the Ravenclaws, I guess.”

            “Is most of this House related to you?” a girl asked. There were more first-year Gryffindor girls than boys by nearly a two-to-one margin: Al had counted eight girls and four other boys.

            “It’s about one out of ten,” Rommy butted in, reaching across one of the first-year girls to grab a slice of chocolate cake, “if you include my family, and as soon as Teddy gets around to proposing to Victoire, we’ll be related to the Weasleys, too.”

  1.             “What’re you so upset about, anyway?” one of the second-year girls asked James.             “Fabian said she hexed you on the train.” 



            “Fabe!” James glowered at his friend.

            “Well, she did, mate,” Gideon pointed out, more loyal to Fabian than James; Fabian and Gideon, Al reflected, were almost as close as brothers.

            “It’s just – it’s –”

            “Spit it out already,” Rommy said.

            “Family pride,” James finished. “Rose _belongs_ in Gryffindor. And if the Sorting Hat won’t put her here, what about Lily? Or Trina and Thecla,” he asked, referring to Rommy’s twin sisters, a year younger than Rose, “or Hugo? Rose is braver than any of them. If it put her there—”

            “I’m in Gryffindor,” Al said, but James wasn’t paying much attention; he only waved  a hand dismissively and kept talking.

            “It put _Al_ in Gryffindor, but not Rose? I don’t understand.”

            Al felt stung. He thought Missy Lupin noticed, because she said in her prefect’s tone, “That’s enough, James. What’s done is done. You heard Professor Jones: they’re not going to take the Sorting Hat back out and re-Sort Rose because you don’t like where she got put. Look over there – does she look unhappy?” Missy pointed to where Rose was sitting, talking to a group of first-years. “She’s fine. Rose can take care of herself.”

            “I know that,” James said sourly. “But that’s exactly why she should be in Gryffindor!”

            The feast ended, and they rose to go to the common room. Al caught sight of Rose in the crowd; she looked over, smiled at him, and was gone, off to Ravenclaw Tower.  

            Al joined his own group. Missy Lupin had delegated the task of leading the first-years to one of the fifth-year prefects, who she had introduced to them as Cyrus Vane. “Not a lot of boys this year, are there?” he remarked as he led them towards Gryffindor Tower.

            Al looked around; he found himself beside two of the other boys. One was long-haired and had a generally unkempt air about him; the other was the gaunt-faced boy who Al already didn’t like.

            “My family’s all been in Gryffindor too,” the gaunt-faced boy was saying to the boy on the other side of Al. “What about yours? And what’s your name, anyway?”

            “I’m Leonidas Gaskin,” replied the unkempt boy. “My parents were Gryffindors.” He grinned. “I always figured I’d be one too.”

            “And you? What about yours?” the boy asked.

            “Mine were both Gryffindor,” Albus said, but the other boy sneered at him.

            “I wasn’t talking to you. You’re a Potter – of course your parents were in Gryffindor.” He turned around, looking directly at the two boys who were walking behind him. “What about you?”

            “Josh Leith,” one of the boys behind Al said; he had curly coppery hair and a snub nose. “My mum’s a Muggle, my dad was a Squib. Don’t know what that makes me. But most of my aunts and uncles were in Hufflepuff, and so were my grandparents.”

            “Hufflepuff?” The other boy made that same snorting noise. Al disliked him all the more for it; James might make fun of them, but he’d never thought that Hufflepuff would be a bad House to be in.

            Josh shrugged. “My dad was so happy to find out I was magic that he wouldn’t have cared if they’d put me in Slytherin, as long as I was in.” He stepped forward. “But I like my family, so you’re not going to say all Hufflepuffs are duffers or anything like that.” Josh squared his shoulders. “They didn’t disown my dad for being a Squib, not like some families do.”

            “What do you want to say?” The gaunt-faced boy, who Al was now thinking of as the obnoxious one, stopped walking and faced Josh, who showed no signs of backing down.

            “I’m Eric Foster,” the boy next to Josh said quickly, obviously trying to defuse the tension by interrupting. “My family’s not magic at all. We’re – what’s the word, again?”

            “Muggles,” Josh offered. “At least, the rest of your family is. You’re Muggle-born.”

            “Yeah, that’s it.” Eric grinned. “Muggle-born, all the way. My dad works for the telephone company.”

            “Would my Granddad Weasley ever like to meet you,” Al said impulsively. “He loves playing around with all that Muggle stuff. Still calls them ‘fellytones.’”

            Eric’s grin widened. “I’d love to meet your granddad,” he said. “I bet he knows a lot about magic.”

            “Well, if you know anything about Muggle stuff, he’d love to meet you.” Al darted a sideways glance at Josh Leith and the unpleasant-looking boy, hoping that one of them would join in the conversation.

            Instead, they were still glowering at one another. “I didn’t catch your name,” Josh said to the other boy, still sounding combative.

            “Nick Shea. All my family – all the Wizarding part, anyway – have been in Gryffindor. My dad says _I’m_ named for the Gryffindor ghost.” Nick craned his neck, looking around as if expecting to see Nearly Headless Nick floating through the hallway at any time.

            “Well, he’s named for the greatest Gryffindor who ever lived,” the chubby brown-haired girl – Amy, Al remembered – interrupted, pointing to Al; she too looked like she wanted to stop any impending hostility between Nick and Josh. “Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the best Headmaster Hogwarts ever had, and one of the bravest Gryffindors who ever lived.”

            They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, cutting the conversation short. “There are passwords you’ll have to remember if you want to get into the common room,” said Cyrus Vane; it was the first time he’d spoken since they’d left the Great Hall. “They get posted on the notice board in the common room, and they change every week, so make sure you always know what the current password is or you won’t be able to get in.”

            He turned to the portrait of a very fat lady in a pink silk dress, who cooed, “First years!”

            Cyrus nodded. “Thirteen of them.” He looked to the Fat Lady, then to the first-years. “You’ll have to give the password to her. If you get it wrong, she won’t let you in.” He looked to the Fat Lady, clearing his throat.

            She smiled sweetly and replied on cue, “Password?”

            “Pumpkin juice,” Cyrus said, and the door opened into a round, cozy room with a blazing fireplace and several comfortable chairs. The rest of Gryffindor House had mostly already filtered in: Al saw James, Rommy, Fabian, and Gideon together in one corner, while Missy Lupin was talking to several of her fellow sixth-years in another. Most people, though, had already gone upstairs to bed; it was growing late, and although they didn’t have class until Monday, the feast had lasted quite a while.

            But Al was so full of happiness that he felt he could hardly sleep. It was everything he had ever imagined, everything he had ever heard described. He wanted to write his parents and tell them that he would be fine, that his father had been right: he had asked the Sorting Hat and it had put him in Gryffindor. More than that, it had said he belonged there, that it would have put him there without asking. That thought made Al feel better than he had all day.

            “Up here,” Cyrus said, gesturing towards the door that led to the boys’ dormitories. Without meaning to, Al yawned; he was exhausted, though he hadn’t really realized it until he saw the dormitory. There were five beds waiting for them, their trunks at the foot of each one: Al was pleased to see that he was between Eric and Leonidas, and that Josh was on the opposite side of the room from Nick.

            As he began to rummage through his trunk for pajamas, he half-thought about staying up and talking with the others, but he was too tired. Looking around, he could tell that most of the others were, as well; in fact, Josh was already sprawled out on his bed and snoring, his pajamas on inside-out.

            “Merlin’s beard, he’s noisy, isn’t he?” Leonidas said, but he sounded good-natured about it.

            _I think Nick probably wants to stuff a pillow down his throat_ , Al thought, but before he could think anything more, he fell asleep.  


	6. Chapter Six

Scorpius awoke and sat up, staring at the blue-and-bronze bed hangings.

            _I’m in Ravenclaw,_ he thought. _I’m actually in Ravenclaw_. He couldn’t help smiling; it was an exhilarating feeling, to know that he wasn’t in Slytherin and that the people here didn’t seem to mind that he was a part of their House.

            _And Rose is here too_ , he thought. She was his first friend, and he was glad that she’d asked the Sorting Hat for Ravenclaw too.

            _She had to ask_ , he thought. There was no doubt in his mind about that; otherwise she would have been put in Gryffindor with the rest of her family. She was too brave for it to have been otherwise.  

            When he got to the common room, he found Rose was already waiting for him. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get to the Great Hall before breakfast is gone.”

            They made their way back to the Hall without getting lost, following other small groups of students (particularly the older ones, who definitely knew where they were going.) As they entered, he noticed that the noise level at the Gryffindor table went up considerably as Rose walked in, and he could see that most of her family was staring at her.

            “Are you sure you want them to see you walking in with me?” he asked.

            Rose grinned. “I don’t mind. Let James get mad – I’m not letting anyone pick my friends for me, especially not him.”

            She made a point of clearing a space for Scorpius next to her at the Ravenclaw table; one of the first-year girls scooted aside for him.

            “We get a whole weekend before classes start!” the girl said as Scorpius sat down. “Isn’t that great? I’m Cait Llewellyn, by the way.”

            “Any relation to Dangerous Dai?” another first-year sitting across from Cait asked.

            “Distant. My dad’s his great-nephew.” She grinned. “Catapults fan?”

            “All the way,” he said. “Ciaran Shanahan. I’d love to go out for Ravenclaw Quidditch eventually.”  

            “Me too,” Cait replied. “I know it probably won’t be until third year at least, but—”

            “It’ll give you something to think about while you’re sitting through History of Magic.” Ciaran grinned. “What’re you? I like to play Chaser.”

            “Me too!” she said, and the two began to chatter eagerly about the subject, discussing everything from the model of the broom they owned to the results of the last World Cup final.

            Rose rolled her eyes. “Quidditch. My dad was Keeper for Gryffindor, but—” She shook her head. “It’s a bunch of people on brooms chasing after a bunch of balls. I never saw the point.”

            “My dad was Seeker for Slytherin. He wants me to go out for Seeker too, but I don’t think I’m very good on a broom,” Scorpius admitted. His dad had the tendency to think Scorpius had his ability at flying, but even though Scorpius owned a Firebolt Mark Four and had been riding for years, he never felt at ease trying to chase a Snitch.

            “Seeker’s the only position worth playing. It’s the only one that ever matters,” Rose said. She lowered her voice and leaned in, speaking in a conspiratorial tone.  “I think it would be better if the Snitch was worth less – maybe fifty points. Otherwise it’s just stupid – it never matters who’s scored the most goals.”

            Ciaran overheard. “That’s not true!” he broke in. “The Bulgaria versus Ireland final back in—”

            “Exception that proves the rule,” Rose interrupted.

            “My dad had tickets. He was actually there,” Cait said. That prevented an argument; Ciaran turned back to her and started talking eagerly about the Ireland versus Bulgaria World Cup Final of nearly twenty-five years ago.

            “I don’t mind watching. I just don’t think I want to play,” Scorpius said. “I like playing Shuntbumps, but—”

            “So do I! I can never get anyone to play with me – Lily, James, Trina, and Hugo are all in love with Quidditch, and Al won’t play because James would make fun of him – but I like it better than Quidditch.” She flushed. “I know it’s a little-kid game, but…”

            “It’s better than Quodpot,” he offered.

            “Quodpot? I’d love to see a game, just once. An exploding Quaffle would be hilarious – better than watching two guys on brooms trying to catch a little flying ball with wings, at least.”

            “It would get old fast, though, wouldn’t it?”

            “That’s why it would only be worth it once.”

            Scorpius was prevented from replying by the arrival of the morning owls. His owl, a tawny owl named Baruffio, dropped a letter and a package down into his lap; next to him, Rose caught a package of her own, as well as a copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

            “That’ll be from Mum,” Rose said as she looked at the copy of the _Prophet_. “She’s always been big on reading the news – she said she’d get me a subscription.” There was a letter attached to the package, which she detached and unfolded; Scorpius did the same with his own letter.

            His heart sank as he scanned it. His parents already assumed he was in Slytherin; his mother asked him how he liked the common room under the lake, and his father asked if he’d made any friends.

            _He’d choke if he knew_ , Scorpius thought, glancing over at Rose.

            On a happier note, his father mentioned that the package contained freshly-baked pastries from his Grandmother Malfoy (baked by the family house-elf, of course), and that he should probably expect a package at least once weekly. His father’s words on the subject made him smile: ‘She’s convinced that you can starve at Hogwarts without home cooking. Once your Hogsmeade visits start third year, she’ll probably send pocket money too – she was always convinced that your grandfather never gave me enough.’

            _But I don’t know what to tell them_ , he thought. He knew he’d have to write back, and he had no clue what to say.

            Next to him, Rose’s brow furrowed as she looked at the contents of her package. “I have no idea what I’m going to tell my parents when I write home,” she said.

            “Why?” he asked.

            She showed him the inside of the box. It was a small cake with the Gryffindor lion emblem on the front, along with the words “Welcome to Gryffindor!” scrawled in red frosting.

            “Dad ordered the cake,” she said. “Had to be. I don’t know if Mum knows about it; there’s nothing in her letter about a cake. But – what am I supposed to say?”

            “I’ve got the same problem,” he told her, showing her his letter. “What am I supposed to tell them?”

            “Tell them that you love your common room – except that it’s in a tower and has all sorts of blue-and-bronze hangings,” she said, grinning impishly. “See what they say. And tell your gran that you like chocolate chip cookies – you can share.” She proffered the cake. “D’you like chocolate cake? I can’t eat all this by myself.”

            “Not with sausages,” he laughed, looking down at his breakfast plate. “Later.”

            “Yeah, orange juice and chocolate was never a good combination, either,” she agreed, taking a sip from her glass. She paused. “After breakfast, want to go back and write our letters together?”

            “All right,” he agreed. He felt better about it already: he knew Rose would know what to say.

            After breakfast, they went straight back to the common room. They got back just as Cait Llewellyn was answering the password question, and slipped in behind her before the door could close. Scorpius raced up to his trunk, retrieved parchment and ink, and ran back down, finding a place at one of the tables. Rose came down a few minutes later and took a seat across from him.

            “Dear Mother and Father,” he began. “I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I haven’t seen the Slytherin common room. The Sorting Hat put me in Ravenclaw. I like it a lot. Everyone in my House seems nice, and I’ve already started to make friends. I also like the common room – it’s up in a tower, and there are blue and bronze hangings everywhere. There’s also a great view of the mountains.”

            Rose was also writing her letter out. “Mum and Dad, I like the cake a lot, except I’m not in Gryffindor. I guess the Sorting Hat thought my brains mattered most and put me in Ravenclaw.” She looked up at Scorpius, grinning. “Scorpius Malfoy is in my House. I’ll make sure to beat him in every exam, just like you said.”

            “What?”

            “That was my dad, on the platform at King’s Cross,” she explained. Her smile grew wider. “I don’t mean anything by it. It’ll just make him laugh. And maybe he won’t get so mad later when I tell them we’re friends.”

            “I could never tell my parents,” he said. “They’d kill me. I’d never hear the end of it – Mother would say it was the first step to becoming a blood traitor, and Father – he hates your parents.”

            Rose frowned. “Are you sure you want to be friends with me?”

            “Like I said, I don’t care what they say,” Scorpius said fervently. “I’ve never seen why blood status mattered.” It was true: he’d been six when he’d started asking his family why being a pure-blood was so important; by the time he was seven, he’d learned not to ask those questions for fear of being called a blood traitor himself, but it hadn’t changed the way he felt.

            “Good.” She grinned. “I’d hate to have been put in Ravenclaw for nothing.”

            They finished their letters, then exchanged them. Scorpius was astonished by how informal Rose’s sounded: she made several jokes, although he noticed that she ended the letter with a rather worried-sounding ‘I really hope you don’t mind I’m in Ravenclaw.’ That, though, was before he reached the postscript: ‘Even if you do mind, maybe one good thing will come out of it – that is, if you send me another cake that says ‘Welcome to Ravenclaw.’’

            Rose looked up from his letter, raising an eyebrow. “‘Please don’t disown me?’” she quoted.

            “You don’t know my family. All of them have been in Slytherin. All of them. And my family tree goes back to thirteen hundred seventy-eight.” 

            “Well, like you said, they’ll probably take Ravenclaw. If I had a kid, I’d be proud if they got Ravenclaw. People can call Gryffindors foolhardy or Slytherins cowards, but you can’t really come up with much of a downside to ‘smart.’”

            “Does it look all right to you?” Scorpius asked.

            “You sound a little worried, but…” She shrugged. “Looks good to me. D’you have an owl?”

            He nodded. “His name is Baruffio.” He’d wanted to name a pet that since his parents had first read him the story _Baruffio and the Buffalo_ , and this was the first chance he’d gotten.

            “Mine is Ramses, even though she’s a girl.” Rose stood, letter in hand. “Come on. Let’s go mail the letters.”

            “I hope we can get back inside,” he said as the door closed behind them.

            It was a fun trip to the Owlery: they got lost on the staircases more than once, and Scorpius thought they’d traversed half the castle – and a good portion of it twice – before they got to the tower with their owls.

            Baruffio was happy to see him; the owl nibbled affectionately at his fingers when he attached the letter.

            “Home, Baruffio,” Scorpius instructed him. Rose was giving the same instructions to Ramses.

            “Well…” Rose smiled as the owls disappeared into the distance, letters clutched in their talons. “I hope we get replies soon.”

            “Tomorrow, I’ll bet,” he predicted; he had butterflies in his stomach as he thought about it.

            _I hope they’re proud_ , he thought. 


	7. Chapter Seven

    Scorpius was right: the replies came the next day, dropped off with breakfast. He got a letter; Rose got a letter and a package.

            “Merlin’s pants, they did send another cake,” she laughed, holding up the box. “Wanna bet that’s what this is?”

            Scorpius choked with laughter. “Merlin’s  _pants_?”

            “It’s a family thing,” Rose said, still giggling. She tore open the package, and her laughter grew harder. “Look!”

            There was, indeed, another cake; this one had the Ravenclaw emblem on the front and read, “Congratulations, New Ravenclaw!” in bright blue frosting.

            “So they’re not going to kill me,” Rose said brightly as she opened her letter. “‘Dear Rose,’” she read, “‘I almost killed your father when I found out he sent you a Gryffindor cake before you were Sorted. Of course we’re glad you’re in Ravenclaw; we’re just a bit surprised, that’s all. Not too surprised, though – we always knew you were smart. What’s the common room like?  _Hogwarts, A History_  always said that it might be the most beautiful common room in the school.’”

  1.             She paused for a moment, reddening slightly; then, she gave a sheepish grin and read, “‘Your father and I can’t believe that Scorpius Malfoy is in Ravenclaw too – maybe he’s not as bad as his father.’”  



            Scorpius smiled back. “You don’t have to be embarrassed – I know he was probably horrible to your mum and dad, even before the war.” Mrs. Weasley was a Muggle-born, after all, and the Weasleys were the biggest blood traitor family in existence.

            Rose kept reading, looking relieved. “‘Your dad wants to put in a little bit – I think he’s embarrassed over the cake. I hope you like your new House as much as I liked Gryffindor; I’m sure the Sorting Hat made the right decision, whatever your father’s going to say. I spent quite a lot of time trying to defend why I wasn’t in Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor was right for me. I’m sure the reverse is true for you.’”

            The writing changed from script to scrawl, and Rose smiled. “That’s my dad’s writing,” she said. “‘Dear Rosie, I always knew you had your mother’s brains, but I never thought you wouldn’t be in Gryffindor. I mean, your mother was in Gryffindor, and you’re just as brave as she is – but I guess the Sorting Hat thought you were even brainier than her. You’d better do better than she did on her O.W.L.s!’”

            She grinned. “My mum had all ‘Os’ and one ‘E,’ and she took everything except Muggle Studies and Divination – and she might’ve done the Muggle Studies O.W.L. anyway, I can’t remember. So no pressure or anything.”

            “My dad told me the same thing before I even left the train station,” Scorpius admitted, “and he thought I’d be in Slytherin.” He looked at the parchment in his hand, wondering what it said.

            “If you want, I’ll stop and let you read yours,” Rose offered, but Scorpius shook his head. Like the Sorting Hat, it was something he would rather put off as long as possible.

            “‘Sorry about the cake,’” she continued. “‘Like your mother said, I was so sure you’d be in Gryffindor that I thought it was okay to send it. I bet all your cousins are surprised!’” Her grin grew wider. “That’s a slight understatement. I wonder if Al or James will write Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny about the Sorting.”

            Returning to the letter, she read, “‘Write us back soon and let us know how you like your House and your new friends. Lots of love, Mum and Dad.’”

            “So your parents are fine,” he said.

            “Yeah, but wait until I tell them who my new best friend is,” she said. “I bet Dad will go nuts.”

            “ _Your_  dad?” he said, looking down at the parchment with trepidation, but he knew he had to open it. Rose had read hers to him, after all.

            He slit it open and was glad to see that it was his father’s handwriting; he knew his mother’s reaction was going to be worse.

            “‘Dear Scorpius, we were glad to get your letter – and more than a little surprised, of course. You know our family has always been in Slytherin on both sides. Your mother swears you’re the first one in either of our families in seven hundred years not to go into Slytherin.’” He frowned; it didn’t sound encouraging. 

            “‘Your mother isn’t too happy about it, of course, but we’re not going to disown you or anything; it’s not as if you had the choice of where to go.’”

            “It’s a good thing nobody ever told him that you could,” Rose said.

            “I’m sure not going to,” Scorpius replied, nodding in agreement. He kept reading. “‘I told her we always knew you were smart – we just didn’t realize how smart you were. I wonder if the Sorting Hat can make mistakes; I mean, it puts Mud—’” It was his turn to redden, and he refused to finish speaking the slur. “—he should say Muggle-borns— ‘in Slytherin sometimes, after all.’”

            “I wonder if Salazar Slytherin would’ve taken Muggle-borns who were ambitious and cunning,” Rose said. “The Sorting Hat should know, shouldn’t it? I mean, Slytherin was around when Godric Gryffindor made the Hat, and they were best friends then too, so it’s not like Gryffindor wouldn’t have known what he wanted.”

            “It told me that my choice was more important than anything,” Rose agreed. “So if a Muggle-born really wanted to be in Slytherin, it would make sense that they’d go there.” The discussion finished, she pointed to the letter. “Go on. Finish it. I’m sure it gets better.”

            “I’m not,” Scorpius muttered, but went on. 

            “‘I can’t believe you’re not in Slytherin, either, but we’re not angry, just a little disappointed. After all, it’s not like you got Gryffindor!’” Looking up, he gave Rose a wan half-smile. “See?”

            “‘I hope you like your new House. Try to make friends with the right sort of people—‘ that means pure-bloods, only I knew he wouldn’t say it, ‘—and make sure you do well in your classes, although I’ve never worried about that. Make sure you beat that Rose Weasley in all your exams. She’s as bad as a—‘” He sighed. “Well, you know what he said. I think he’s just mad because he never did better than your mum in exams. Grandfather told me that.”

            “‘Let us know how you’re doing. Try to talk to some Slytherins anyway; you should have one class with them, at least, and you can get to know them there. You might have an easier time finding friends there than Ravenclaw. Love, your father.’”

            “Well, they didn’t disown you,” Rose said; she tried to say the words in the same bright tone that she’d used when the cake had arrived, but the tone came out a little forced. Scorpius knew why: Rose’s parents might’ve been disappointed too, but it was clear that they were hiding it a lot better.

            “Yeah, but—” He shrugged, trying to sound as if he’d already brushed it off. “I’m sorry about what my dad said in the letter. All my family talks like that – they don’t see anything wrong with it.”

            “But you do, so what do I care?” Rose replied. He could tell that she meant it. She paused for a moment, hesitating, but the next words burst out of her with a surprising amount of anger. “Honestly, though – he could’ve been nicer about it. ‘We’re just a little disappointed?’ ‘Your mother isn’t too happy?’ And your mum – she could’ve said something nice, even if she was disappointed. I mean, my dad managed to, and he was probably really upset.”

            “You don’t know my mum.” Scorpius had known she wouldn’t write, unless it was to send a Howler to express her disappointment in his getting the wrong House.

            “What’re you going to tell them about finding the right sort of friends?”

            “I’ll tell them that I’m making friends just fine,” he said. “I don’t have to mention anyone by name; if I don’t tell them otherwise, they’ll just assume I mean pure-bloods.” He sighed. “Sometimes I’ve wondered: Even if I wanted to only make friends with pure-bloods, how would I do it? It’s not like you can just walk up to people and say, ‘Hi, I’m Scorpius Malfoy. What’s your blood status? Not pure-blood? Oh, can’t talk, bye.’”

            “Maybe they do in Slytherin,” Rose suggested.

            “Nah, I think they’d just assume everyone was a pure-blood.”

            “I don’t know. I mean, there aren’t that many pure-bloods left – not everyone in Slytherin can be pure-blood.”

            “Who knows? They might not even mind if I made friends with a half-blood. Headmaster Snape was a half-blood, and they named me after him.”

            “I’m half-blood,” Rose pointed out. “It’s just—”

            “Weasley,” he said bleakly. “Oh well. I think we’ve been over this enough. I don’t care. If they find out – well, I guess we’ll have a fight. If I had to go by their rules, I wouldn’t have any friends.”

            “Well, it’s not like we can’t keep it a secret,” she said. “It’s not like my parents are going to be talking to yours any time soon.”

            “You’re actually going to mention me?” he asked, feeling as if someone had hit him with a Stunning Spell.

  1.             “I’ll tell Ramses to give the letter to Mum first – and I’ll tell Mum to take a picture when she tells Dad. It would be worth it. I’ll bet you right now I get a letter back from dad that starts ‘Are you joking?’”  



            “I can’t believe you can tell them,” he said incredulously. “I mean, your parents hate my parents.”

            “Not as much as yours hate mine, apparently,” she said. “They might be a little upset, but it’ll be like it was with the Sorting – they’ll get over it.”

            “Really?”

            “Really.” She rolled up the parchment. “I think I’ll wait until after the start of classes to write back, though. I’ll have more to say.”

            “I’ll wait, too,” he decided. He knew that by talking about classes, he could sidestep most of their questions about the ‘right sort of friends.’”

            “I’ve got a chess set,” Rose suggested. “Want to play? Or we could go outside – it’s a nice day.”

            “Whatever you want to do is fine with me. We’ve got the whole weekend.”

            “Chess it is, then,” Rose decided. “I’ll go get the board.”

            Scorpius rose to go put his letter away, too. He couldn’t share Rose’s anger: his parents’ reply had actually been better than he’d expected.

             _And I don’t have to write them back until Monday_ , he thought, feeling relieved as he tucked the letter in his trunk. Until then, he could relax and have fun with Rose.

             _I can’t believe her parents were so nice about it_ , he marveled as he headed back downstairs. His dad might say that Weasleys were all Mudbloods and blood traitors, but they sure were a lot more relaxed.  


	8. Chapter Eight

Al spent the weekend trying to get to know the other members of his class: he was shy, and it took him a lot of effort before he could work up the nerve to talk to anyone.

 _I wish Rose was in Gryffindor_ , he thought. She would have made friends with everyone, and once she’d started talking, it would have been easier to tag along with her.

            Instead, he found himself alone, struggling to muster the courage to walk up to the others and start talking. Eric Foster and Josh Leith were both nice, but they were quickly becoming best friends, and he felt left out even though they were willing to include him.

            Leonidas was boisterous and loud, and was completely obsessed by Quidditch.   
“It’s the only lesson I’m really excited about, broom-flying, because I’ll get to be on a broom again. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone so long without riding a broom. My parents have let me ride one for years,” he boasted to Al. But Leonidas was good-natured enough, and Al didn’t actively dislike him; he just couldn’t see them becoming best friends.

            _I’m definitely not making friends with Nick_ , he thought. Nick Shea had found a group of older boys to make friends with, and most of the girls were grouped off into pairs or trios: Al didn’t pay much attention to them, even though they outnumbered the first-year boys eight to five.

            So he spent much of his time alone, wishing Rose was there.

            _Maybe I should have asked for Ravenclaw_ , he thought wistfully. He loved Gryffindor, but it would have been so much easier to make friends if Rose had been there. He was sure she was probably the most popular first-year in Ravenclaw already.

            _But I don’t belong in Ravenclaw, either. I’m not smart or witty or anything like that._ For what seemed the millionth time, he half-wished he hadn’t said anything, that he’d just let the Sorting Hat make its choice.

            _I wonder if Rose wishes she was in Gryffindor?_ he wondered. He wished he could talk to her, but he didn’t know where the Ravenclaw common room was.

            As the hours wore on, though, he decided to get up and go outside. _I can always go see Hagrid_ , he thought. He knew he wasn’t scheduled to have tea with him until the end of the week, but he didn’t think Hagrid would be too upset if he dropped in.

            So he headed down to the grounds. He didn’t go straight to Hagrid’s hut; instead, he ambled around, half-hoping Rose and Scorpius would be outside. He kept away from the Forbidden Forest, wandering down by the lake. There was a small group of first-years staring at the Memorial Wall and the statue that served as Hogwarts’ war memorial: the wall, lettered with the names of those who had died fighting during both wars against Voldemort, was the base for a statue that showed the magical world uniting to fight a masked Death Eater. 

            Their voices carried; Al could hear a student explaining the statue to a Muggle-born, could see a handful of others gawking at the statue or searching for names, but he hung back, not really wanting to go nearer. He knew his dad’s parents’ names were on the statue, along with his Uncle Bill’s and both the men he was named for, but he hadn’t known any of them. He knew the statue meant more to the people who’d survived the war than the curious congregants here.

            “Do you have family on the wall?”

            Al realized that someone was speaking to him and turned. A Ravenclaw girl, a fellow first-year by the look of her, was standing next to him. She held a book in one hand.

            He nodded. “My Uncle Bill’s name is up there; he died in the Battle of Hogwarts. So are my Gran and Granddad Potter; they died when my dad was a baby, during the first war.”

            “Potter,” she repeated, looking impressed. “You’re Harry Potter’s son, then?”

Al nodded.

            “You do look quite a bit like him – at least, how he looks in the books I’ve read, anyway. My family lives in Godric’s Hollow, not too far from the memorial there.” She looked towards the statue. “I’d never seen this memorial before. I never had a reason to; my parents didn’t fight in the Battle of Hogwarts or anything like that. Mum was a Muggle-born and didn’t have a wand, and Dad was underage. I don’t have any other relatives on the wall, either. I guess I’m lucky.”

  1.             Al nodded. He knew how teary-eyed his Gran Weasley still got when speaking of her eldest son; he thought just about all the adults he knew had suffered at least one loss in their family.   



            “I’m Aspasia Reed, by the way,” the girl introduced herself. “I’m a first-year. Are you?”

He nodded. “I’m Al.”

            “Albus Severus,” she recited, then smiled in response to Al’s look of surprise. “One of the prefects told us. We were talking about wizard names during the feast – you know, some of the Muggle-borns think we’ve got odd names.”

            “I think my name is weird,” Al said. He’d taken his share of teasing from both his siblings about it. “My dad named me for the last two Headmasters of Hogwarts.”

            Aspasia nodded. “I figured that out,” she said, sounding like just a little bit of a know-it-all. She paused. “You’re Rose’s cousin.”

            Al saw an unexpected opening and brightened. “Do you know her?”

            “She’s nice,” Aspasia said. “I like her. Most of the people in my House are really friendly – well, the girls, at least. I haven’t spoken to most of the boys, so I don’t know about them.”

             “Do you know where she is? Rose, I mean?”

            “Now? I’m not sure. I’ve been out here since lunch. But when I went out, she was playing chess with Scorpius.” She hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

            “Why not?”

            Aspasia’s eyebrows went up again. “I thought you might mind. You and your family didn’t seem too happy she got Ravenclaw. I figured her making friends with a Malfoy wouldn’t go over much better.”

            _At least she’s got friends_ , Al thought. Aloud, he said, “I don’t mind. He didn’t seem bad on the train.”

            “Oh, good. Because they’re pretty much _best_ friends, from the looks of it.” Aspasia paused. “It’s funny, how people start to pair off so fast – Cait and Ciaran are inseparable, Faith, Emily, and Emma have been sticking together; I’m even pretty good friends with Gemma and Eric already—” She broke off, smiling. “But you don’t know who any of those people are!”

            “It’s okay. I know what you mean; it’s the same way in my House.” He paused. “I was wondering, though…maybe you could show me where your common room is? I won’t go in, I promise, I just want to see if maybe Scorpius and Rose want to come out. Maybe…”

            Aspasia tilted her head to one side, her expression quizzical, before she gave him a warm smile. “Sure,” she said. He thought that she’d figured out why he wanted to know: he was lonely in his own House. “Come on.”

            He followed her back to Hogwarts, past the Great Hall, up a staircase, then another, until they got to Ravenclaw Tower.

            “Professor Flitwick’s got his office up here, and I’ve heard Professor Sykes – the Muggle Studies professor, not the Charms one – lives up here, although I haven’t seen him yet,” she said as they walked.

            Finally, they came to a halt before a handle-less door; it had only an eagle knocker on the front. Aspasia walked right up to the door, knocking. A moment later, the eagle came to life.

            “When deciding how to keep her common room safe, why did Rowena Ravenclaw choose to ask riddles instead of passwords?” the eagle asked.

  1.             “It’s been asking a lot of questions about Ravenclaw over the weekend. You know, why did Ravenclaw like intelligent students, why the House is called Ravenclaw when our house animal is an eagle, things like that. The older students say it’s not always like that,” Aspasia explained, looking at Al. “I guess it’s to help us think more about our House. Whenever you figure out a good answer, you learn a little bit more about it – and you get to go inside.”   



            Al stared at her. “No passwords?”  

            “None,” she said, grinning. “Never. All you’ve got to do is answer the question.”

            “What do you do if you get it wrong?”

            “Then you either try again, or you wait until someone else comes along. Do you want to try?”

            “No thanks,” he said, feeling daunted. Memorizing a password was one thing; having to work out a question was quite another.

            Aspasia turned back to the door. “Anyone can steal a password,” she said. “It takes intelligence to figure out a question – and that’s what Rowena Ravenclaw wanted in her students, intelligence, right? So she must’ve thought that anyone smart enough to answer the question deserved to get into her House’s common room, no matter what the Sorting Hat said.”

            “Excellent,” the knocker said; the door swung open.

            “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

            “It’s all right,” Al said. He would have felt completely out of place in the Ravenclaw common room; although he’d wondered earlier if he wouldn’t have been happier in the same House as Rose, he could tell that this wasn’t the right house for him. “Just see if she’s in there, and let her know I’m here.” 

            Rose likes working out puzzles, he thought. Ravenclaw’s riddles seemed like the sort of thing she liked.

            A moment later, Rose bounded out of the common room, followed by Scorpius. “Al!” she said, smiling brightly. “How are you? How’d you find the common room?”

            “Aspasia showed me. I ran into her outside, on the grounds.” He paused, looking at the handle-less door. “I can’t believe you use a question.”

            “Isn’t it neat? I mean, I guess it’s a little inconvenient; you’ve got to stop and figure something out every time, unless you can sneak in behind someone else. But it’s a lot of fun to try, especially if you’ve got a group. And so far it hasn’t asked anything too hard.”

            “For you, maybe,” Al said doubtfully. “I’d rather just have the password to memorize.”

            “How do you like Gryffindor?” For a moment, the smile faded; Rose looked a little homesick. “Is it everything our parents always said it was?”

            “I should sneak you in sometime,” Al said. “Nobody would notice.”

  1.             “Nobody?” She laughed. “Because you saw how inconspicuous I was at the Sorting.”   



            “Well, I don’t think anybody would mind,” he amended.

            “James?”

            “He wants you in Gryffindor. I think he’d be happier if you spent most of your time hanging out in our common room.”

            “Like a Gryffindor who just happens to wear Ravenclaw robes and goes to classes with the Ravenclaws and sleeps in the Ravenclaw dormitories?”

            Al had to smile. “Yeah. Like that. I think he thinks if you maybe spent enough time with the Gryffindors, the Headmistress might actually re-Sort you.”

            “I wouldn’t want it. I like Ravenclaw,” Rose repeated forcefully.

            “I’m glad. I really like Gryffindor.” For a moment, he thought about telling Rose that he’d asked to be in Gryffindor, but decided against it: he didn’t know if Rose would still like Ravenclaw so much if she knew she could have asked to be in Gryffindor.

            As he watched his cousin, he was glad that he hadn’t said anything: as he spoke of Gryffindor, that slightly wistful look returned to Rose’s face. “What’s it like?” she repeated. “The common room and everything.”

            “It’s great,” he said. “I mean, it’s all red, and there are comfortable chairs and sofas and stuff around the fireplace where everyone can hang out. I like it a lot. It really is like what Mum and Dad said it would be.” He stopped, not sure if he should go on; he didn’t want to make Rose sad that she wasn’t in Gryffindor.

            _Is she?_ he thought. He couldn’t tell. Aspasia hadn’t said anything about how Rose felt about being in Ravenclaw. 

            “Rose – I wanted to ask—” he began, uncertain of what to say. “Do you like your House?”

            But he didn’t have to worry: immediately, the smile returned to her face. “It’s great,” she enthused. “The common room is lovely, and everyone is so nice, and I think some of the things like the password question are so neat, I think I’ll like Ravenclaw a lot. And you know blue is my favorite color.” She stopped, seeing the incredulous look on Albus’s face. “I really don’t mind. I’ll miss not being with everyone else, but I’m already making friends.” Her smile grew wider as she looked over to Scorpius, who was still hanging back, looking as shy as Al himself.

             “I just don’t understand how you didn’t get into Gryffindor. You’re the bravest person I know. On the train—”

            Rose blushed and looked away, momentarily speechless. Finally, she said, “You should’ve seen what Dad said. He actually sent a cake that said ‘Welcome to Gryffindor!’ on it.”

            “I would’ve died,” Al replied; he couldn’t imagine how bad that would have been. “I mean, if I hadn’t got into Gryffindor and my parents did something like that—”

            “Oh, I’m pretty sure Mum wanted to kill him. She didn’t know.”

            “It didn’t sound like something she’d do,” Al agreed. Aunt Hermione usually had more sense than that.

            _Although I can see where they’d both think there wasn’t any doubt_ , he thought. Until the Sorting Hat had actually shouted out “RAVENCLAW!”, he’d been one hundred percent sure Rose was going into Gryffindor.

            _Me, on the other hand…_ Even with the Sorting Hat’s comment about ‘that’s where I thought I’d put you, in the end,’ Al couldn’t be sure of where it would have put him if he hadn’t interrupted it.

            _Maybe it would even have put me in Slytherin_ , he thought, suppressing a shudder. “Do you like Ravenclaw, too?” he asked Scorpius. Like the rest of his family, he’d been sure that Scorpius Malfoy was going to be in Slytherin House.

            “I love it,” Scorpius said immediately.

            “Scorpius always wanted Ravenclaw,” Rose said. She grinned. “But don’t tell his parents.”  

            Al was surprised, but felt bad for the surprise almost immediately: Scorpius might have looked like his dad, but he didn’t seem anything like Draco Malfoy, at least not from his family’s stories.

            He thought about James and what had happened on the train, about how James had accused Scorpius of being a Slytherin and practically of being a supporter of You-Know-Who, and felt even more ashamed.

            _I didn’t stop them_ , he thought again, feeling guilty: once more, he felt a twinge of doubt about the Sorting Hat’s decision, wondering if he was truly brave enough to belong in Gryffindor. James was right: Rose was braver than he was, and she was in Ravenclaw.

            “I’m really sorry,” he blurted out to Scorpius. “For what happened on the train. I should’ve done something.” He flushed.

            “It’s all right,” Scorpius reassured him. “I’m used to it. People thinking I’m like my parents, I mean. Everyone does.” He hesitated. “I know what they did, and that it was wrong, but they’re really sorry for everything they did during the war, at least my dad is.”

            Rose shot a look at Scorpius. “And I keep telling him he shouldn’t have to apologize for what his family did – he wasn’t even alive during the war, after all. He shouldn’t have to go around expecting to get hexed because of what his family did.” She blew air out through her lips, looking frustrated.

            “Maybe now that you’re in Ravenclaw, people will think you’re different,” Al said.

            “I hope so.” Scorpius paused. “But - your cousins – are they still—”

            “They’re still not happy. Especially now that you and Rose are in a House together,” he admitted.

            Scorpius gave Rose a concerned look, but she waved it off. “James is just being stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

            “It is stupid,” Al said, wanting to let Scorpius know that he wasn’t like his brother. “Like I said, I’m really sorry about the train.”

            “It’s all right,” Scorpius said. He gave Al a tentative smile, then glanced at Rose. “It was worth it.”

            “Listen, d’you want to do something?” Rose asked, changing the subject: Al had the distinct feeling that she was tired of talking about James and his friends. “It’s a nice day; we could go down to the grounds, maybe hang around by the lake.”

            “That would be great,” Al said.

            They went down to the lake and spent the rest of the day there; it was a beautiful day, the sky a crisp, clear blue, the temperature a little warmer than usual, perfectly pleasant. Both Al and Scorpius were a little shy, but Rose seemed determined to get them to talk to one another, and she did: within the first few minutes of talking, Al knew that Scorpius wasn’t anything like his family.

            _He’s nice_ , Al thought. He offered Al his choice of whatever sweets his grandmother had sent him, and he offered to play him in wizard chess whenever he wanted.

            “I love chess,” Al said. “I’m not as good as Rose, though.”

            “Neither am I,” Scorpius admitted.

            “Oh, come on. You won one game out of three,” Rose said, although she looked pleased with herself. 

            “You won a game? You did better than I usually do. Rose is better than anyone in our family, even Hugo.” Al usually fared nearly as badly against Hugo as he did against Rose: his Uncle Ron’s part of the family seemed to be the Wizarding chess champions of the Weasley family.

            “Dad can still beat me,” Rose pointed out. “You ought to play each other, though. I think you’re a little better, Scorpius, but Al would still be a good match.”

            “We will, sometime,” Scorpius said. “We can bring a board…I don’t know, somewhere. It’s too bad there isn’t a common room where everyone can meet.”

            A light came into Rose’s eyes: Al could see she’d figured out the answer. “There’s always the Room of Requirement.”

            “The Room of Requirement? For a chess match?”

            “Why not? You probably wouldn’t even have to bring your own board. I’ll bet you the Room could provide one.”

            “She’s right,” Scorpius said. “It would work. And I’d like to see the Room of Requirement. It sounds neat. I mean, a room that becomes whatever you need it to be – it would be really neat to find out how the magic works, too.”

            “I’d like to see it,” Al agreed. He thought of all the stories he’d heard about it: about how his dad had organized Dumbledore’s Army there, how they’d spent months sneaking around, learning defensive magic, until Professor Umbridge had caught them. He’d heard the stories from his uncles Fred and George about they’d hid there from caretaker Filch, about how his Aunt Ginny and Neville had organized Dumbledore’s Army to fight the Death Eaters when his dad was on the run fighting Lord Voldemort, and about how his dad and his Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron had snuck back into the castle through the Room of Requirement just before the Battle of Hogwarts.

            The conversation moved to other things, and Al let himself lean back and enjoy the day: he felt happier here than he had in his House.

            _It’s too bad Scorpius isn’t in Gryffindor_ , he thought. It would have been nice to have friends in his House, someone to eat dinner with.

            At dinner, he sat near James, Fabian, Gideon, and Rommy. “Where were you all day?” James asked. “I didn’t see you anywhere. You didn’t get lost, did you?”

            He shook his head. “I was visiting Rose. We went down to the lake.”

            “She wasn’t with Malfoy, was she?”

            Al hesitated, wondering if he should lie. But he’d never been a good liar, and he could see his brother already knew the truth.

            “She was,” he said, disgusted.

            “He’s not that bad,” Al said, knowing he had to say something; he hadn’t defended Scorpius before, and he had to try to make up for it. “He’s actually really nice. He’s not anything like his dad.”

            “You’re defending him?” Fabian asked.

            “He’s a Malfoy,” Gideon agreed. “That’s what matters.”

            “He should’ve been in Slytherin. Just like Rose should’ve been in Gryffindor.”

            “Fabe’s right,” James said.

            “But he and Rose are both really smart,” Al said. “And they’re happy in Ravenclaw.”

            That didn’t seem to matter to any of the other boys.

            “Rose would be happier in Gryffindor,” Gideon said. “She belongs with us.”

James spoke through a mouthful of chicken. “She might be smart, but she’s braver than she is brainy.”




            “I can’t believe she’s making friends with a Malfoy,” James said, disgusted. “Friends with the enemy—” He stabbed his plate with his fork, missing the chicken entirely; the sound of metal on china made an unpleasant squeak that made Al shudder.

            “He’s really nice. If you’d talk to him,” Al tried, but it only made James turn a glare on him.

            “You’re not friends with him, are you?”

            “We’d have to disown you,” Fabian said.

            “Yeah. We’ll make you go eat at the Slytherin table. Making friends with someone who ought to be in Slytherin—”

            Rommy shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances with Al; Al could tell that Rommy Lupin didn’t like the tone of the conversation any more than he did.

            But Al couldn’t bring himself to back down, not entirely. “Rose likes him a lot,” he said.

That only upset James all the more. Al was glad when dinner was over and he could go back to the Gryffindor common room. There, he watched Josh and Eric playing Gobstones until it was time to go to sleep.

            The next day, he thought he would try to spend with James and his friends. He knew he could always go get Rose, but he thought she was probably right: he did need to try to make friends in his own House, and he wanted to try to patch things over with James.

            _I don’t know why he’s being so dumb about Scorpius_ , he thought. He wondered if things would have been half as bad if Rose hadn’t been Sorted into Ravenclaw along with him. He didn’t know.

            But apparently, James was still angry: he didn’t seem to want him around, brushing him off whenever he tried to hover nearby. Instead, Al’s older brother spent all his time hanging around Rommy, Fabian, and Gideon, as usual. They spent quite a lot of time grumbling about Rose, and more than once they went out into the hallways – maybe to find her, Al thought – but they came back disappointed. Al felt bad for Rose; he had the feeling that her next meeting with James might go about as well as the incident on the train had.

            So he went back to the Ravenclaw common room: he didn’t feel confident enough to try answering a question, but instead waited until he caught a Ravenclaw going through the door, then asked them to go see if Rose and Scorpius could come out.

            They were more than happy to join him; again, they spent a day out on the grounds. The more time Al spent with Scorpius, the more he liked him: Scorpius was about as quiet as Al himself, but he was friendly enough, once Rose could get him to talk. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about: if they did, Rose always found something. The start of classes, talking about their classmates, about something they’d read: Rose and Scorpius both seemed to have _Hogwarts, A History_ memorized, and Al didn’t mind hearing about it. Truth be told, he’d rather have them summarize the interesting parts of the book instead of having to read the whole thing himself.

            It was a nice day, unspoiled; if James was out looking for them, he didn’t find them. The hours passed quickly, though, and before he knew it, it was Monday: the start of classes.

            Al’s day started with Transfiguration, taught by Professor Sykes, a tall, thin man in his mid-forties with a long gray ponytail and oversized glasses. The wisps of hair that had escaped the ponytail stuck up in funny tufts, and there was a small patch at the end of the ponytail that appeared to be bright orange. He was the Head of Hufflepuff House, and seemed generally friendly, if a little exuberant for Al’s tastes.

            “My brother teaches Muggle Studies, so if any of you decide you want to take it in your third year, he’ll teach you too.” Professor Sykes already knew several of the first-year Hufflepuff students who were in the class by name. He smiled broadly. “Whatever the rest of your older classmates might have said about me, I’ll let you know that I’m not half as crazy as my brother. Although…take Muggle Studies your third year, and then you can judge for yourself!”

  1.             Albus was glad that Professor Sykes was nice, because Transfiguration was hard. Their first task was try to turn a match into a needle, but by the end of the lesson, no one’s needle had changed much. Albus’s was silver, but it was still made of wood and had a red-tipped end. Albus couldn’t feel too badly, though; one of the boys from Hufflepuff, Aristophanes Durbin, played with his match instead of trying to Transfigure it and accidentally set his hair on fire. Professor Sykes put the fire out in an instant, but had given Aristophanes a stern warning and the promise of detention if it happened again. “Or maybe I’ll just let you set your ears on fire and make you figure out how to put it out on your own,” he said with a wink. “That would teach you a lesson too, but I’d never hear the end of it, either from Madam Pomfrey or the Headmistress.”   



            His next class was Potions, with Professor Slughorn; Professor Slughorn was also friendly and talkative, and started his class by going down the roll. They had Potions with the Slytherins. He could hear Nick whispering about how horrible Slytherins were and how all of them had joined You-Know-Who in the last war, but was silenced by a Slytherin girl named Mandragora Galland, who told them sniffily that Professor Slughorn had fought You-Know-Who himself during the Battle of Hogwarts.

            Professor Slughorn didn’t seem to notice the whispering; instead, he was calling out names and saying something to each person whose name he called. “Mandragora,” he said to the Slytherin girl, “congratulations to your father for his recent promotion at the Ministry. He was always one of my favorite students. Leonidas – I hope your mother’s well? Of course she must be – she was always superb at whipping up Pepperup Potion. Tell her I still use some of the improvements to the original she came up with. Maddie, I hope your sister’s doing well, I got the box of crystallized pineapple she sent me, tell her thank you for me. You should all know that’s my favorite. Try some, and you’ll see why.” He winked at them, then pulled out a box to pass around.  

            He kept going down the roll, talking to Slytherins and Gryffindors alike, although Al couldn’t tell how he picked who to speak to. He passed over three of the Slytherins who immediately preceded Al’s name in the alphabet, but stopped when he got to Al himself.

            “Albus Potter! I hope your father’s well. Head of the Auror department before his thirtieth birthday; that’s an impressive achievement, not to mention his defeat of You-Know-Who – likely the single greatest event of our time. And your Aunt Hermione – already famous for her reforms in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures department, with enough knowledge of Magical Law that she might well become the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot someday – always a gifted student, although she could never compare to your father’s Potioneering genius, you know – your father and your grandmother before him, Potions prodigies both – but perhaps you’ve inherited some of their talent?” Slughorn was bubbling over with enthusiasm, looking as if he couldn’t contain himself.

            “I – I don’t know,” Al stammered, taken aback. He knew his father really wasn’t that talented at Potions; the story of the special Potions book had been told many times within the Potter family. He did have the N.E.W.T. level textbook his father had inherited from one of the Potions cabinets; his father had given it to him, considering that it had been his namesake’s, though he’d had to promise to share its secrets with his siblings.

            _I know I’ll get an ‘O’ in N.E.W.T. Potions if I can last_ , he thought. If he decided that he wanted to take N.E.W.T.-level Potions, the key was figuring out some way to get an ‘E’ on his O.W.L.

            “Well, we’ll see, we’ll see. It’s a pity your brother hasn’t learned more from your father – but I do hear from Professor Griffiths that he is quite talented in practical defense!”

            They attempted a simple potion on that first day. Al was happier with his result in Potions than he had been in Transfiguration, but the best potion of the day belonged to Kevin Nott, the thin, dark-haired Slytherin boy. Al got five points for his House for having the best Gryffindor potion, but Kevin earned ten.

            After lunch, Al had the class he was most looking forward to, if only because he would get to talk to Rose again, and because he didn’t have to feel afraid of meeting a new professor: Herbology.

            The Ravenclaws were already in the greenhouses when Albus came in. “I want you in tables of threes,” Professor Longbottom said as the Gryffindors tromped in. “At least one of you ought to be from another House from the other two.”

            Al brightened; Rose was holding a spot open for him. He rushed over; Scorpius Malfoy was in the other place.

            “What classes have you had so far?” she asked him. “We’ve had Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms. I got ten points in Charms from Professor Flitwick for being the first to get my feather to levitate!”

            “Transfiguration and Potions. Transfiguration’s really hard,” Albus replied.

            “I can’t wait. It sounds like the best subject. Animagi, Switching Spells, Vanishing things—”

            “All we’re doing so far is turning a match into a needle, and nobody could even get that far,” Albus replied. He wanted to say more, but Neville – Professor Longbottom, he reminded himself – was already talking. He did his best to listen to Neville, but Albus wanted to talk to Rose quite badly, and found himself whispering even as Neville was going on about everything they were going to learn and what plants they would be working with that semester.

            “How’re your classmates? Talked to anyone? You’ve got to try, you know. And it wouldn’t hurt to make friends with people outside of our family – even if Gryffindor is a lot of Potters and Weasleys and Lupin, it’s not everybody, and you’ll be glad if you’ve got more friends than just James and his crowd.”

            She didn’t wait for him to reply. “But how are James and the rest of them? Does he still want to curse me for being in Ravenclaw?”

            Before Al could reply, though, Neville – Professor Longbottom, Al reminded himself – started to talk.

            “Quiet, please,” he called out; they weren’t the only ones whispering. Neville finished talking a few minutes later, though, and they began to work; during class, Neville walked around, examining everyone’s work. He came to Rose, Scorpius, and Al last.

            “Rose, Al, it’s good to see you,” he said. “I’m glad you’re in my House, Al. I promised your dad I’d keep an eye on you. I don’t expect you’ll be half as much trouble as your brother, though.”

            Thinking of James, Albus had to agree.

            Neville’s gaze lingered for a moment on Scorpius, and he seemed to tense slightly, but he passed over Scorpius without saying a thing. Instead, he spoke to Rose. “I’m sorry you’re not in Gryffindor, Rose, but I’m sure you’ll make a fine Ravenclaw.”

            “I hope so,” Rose said. She held up the pot she was working on. “Am I doing this right, Professor?” She wrinkled her nose; Al knew Rose had never liked working in the garden at the Burrow, and it seemed that she was noticeably less excited about Herbology than she’d been about the prospect of Transfiguration.

            “Here,” Neville said, starting to pick up the pot and showing her the correct way to do it, but stopped. “Actually, Al could probably show you. You’re pretty good at this, aren’t you, Al? Your work looks excellent.”

            Al beamed as he showed Rose what he’d done. He didn’t feel halfway competent in many of his other classes, but in Herbology, at least, he felt comfortable.

            _I like this_ , he thought happily as class let out. Finally, it was a subject that he felt good at. 


	9. Chapter Nine

            Dinner, too, was wonderful; Al felt a thrill just sitting down at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by his fellow first-years. He was beginning to be able to distinguish his fellow Gryffindors from one another: a group of three or four girls was already chattering excitedly to one another across the table from him, and Al thought he could name them all: Amy Adams, the chubby girl with a tangle of thick, messy hair that reminded him rather of his cousin Rose’s, only Amy’s was brown instead of Weasley red; Leila Ghoul, an Arabic girl with a high laugh; and Maddie Harman, a green-eyed girl with a pointed nose. Farther down the table, Nick Shea was talking to a group of second-years, boasting about something; some of them even looked impressed. Al caught James looking over at him, that same sharp, unpleasant look coming over his face.

            Al scooted down the bench so he could hear what was going on.

            “My family’s more Gryffindor than anyone,” Nick was boasting to the other boys. “Every last family member I’ve had for more than three hundred years has been a Gryffindor; we’ve only ever married other Gryffindors or Muggles, and we’re known more than anyone for being bold and willing to—”

            “More Gryffindor than my family? How many Sheas do you see in Gryffindor right now?” James finally spoke up; Al thought he’d been in a foul mood ever since Rose had been Sorted into Ravenclaw, and Nick’s boasting certainly wasn’t helping anything.

            “Yeah,” Fabian piped up; Fabian, Gideon, and Rommy Lupin seemed to magically appear behind James, popping up where Al hadn’t seen them.

            “One out of ten Gryffindors is a Lupin, Potter, or Weasley. Last year, before Teddy graduated, there was Teddy, Missy, John, me, James, Fabian, Gideon, and Victoire,” Rommy piped up, “and in another two years, we’ll have lost Missy and Victoire, but we’ll have Trina and Thecla, Lily, and Hugo.”  

            “Lupins aren’t related to Potters and Weasleys.”

            “We will be once my brother Teddy marries Victoire there,” Rommy said, jabbing his finger at Victoire Weasley, who heard her name, briefly looked up, and rolled her eyes in such a haughty way that her mother would have been proud. “I bet they’re just waiting until she gets out of school.”

            “Yeah,” James said, though he sounded much more on the disgusted end of the emotional spectrum than Rommy, who was downright enthusiastic about the idea. “Then we’ll all be related. Besides, we have Lupins over for dinner so often that they might as well be family.”

            “And we go there often enough,” Gideon agreed. 12 Grimmauld Place was generally as crowded as the Burrow, and much more exciting: the Lupins had left a number of the more harmless magical heirlooms and artifacts in place, although Al knew that Rommy had been disappointed to learn that, once upon a time, house-elf heads had decorated the stairway. Those had been repatriated to Kreacher, the last descendant of said house-elves, long before Rommy’s birth. “We’re all like family anyway.”

            “Well, how many generations of Potters have been in Gryffindor?”

            “All the Potters I know about,” James retorted. The Potters, at one point in time, had been an old pure-blood family; Rose had once showed Al a copy of their genealogy in a copy of _Nature’s Nobility_ they’d found in the Black family library. “And all the Weasleys, too.”  

            Nick wasn’t ready to concede, even confronted by four angry second-years.

Gryffindors have to be courageous, Al thought. There was nothing that ever said they couldn’t be stupidly brave. Nick seemed to fit that profile admirably.

            “Not all,” Nick said. He jerked a thumb at the Ravenclaw table. “Your cousin there must be one fine example of a Weasley coward. And don’t even get me started on your family—” he sneered at Rommy Lupin.

            But before he could get out any slurs against Rommy’s family, any remarks about his mum being a typical Hufflepuff duffer or Rommy’s Slytherin Black relatives, James had waved his wand. Nick obviously hadn’t been expecting the attack, and screeched as he was flung backwards, clutching at his face.

            “James!” Al said, feeling ashamed that he’d been content to watch once more without actually doing anything.

 _I didn’t realize he was going to try anything_ , he thought, trying to justify himself. _And Nick deserved it._

            “Let him go crawling to the hospital wing, if he can get there,” James said. “What’re you complaining about?”

            “He did deserve it, mate,” Fabian said.

            Even Rommy was nodding. “If he hadn’t done it, I would have.”

            “What if he tells Professor Longbottom?”

            “Is that all you’re worried about? Getting in trouble?” Gideon watched with satisfaction as Nick crawled away, shaking off all attempts from fellow first-years to help him up. Tiny black tentacles seemed to be growing over his face, though he was still trying to cover them with his hands.

            “He’ll be back,” Rommy predicted. “He’ll try something later.”

            “Let him,” Fabian said, keeping his wand out. “We’ll be ready. Besides, he’s only a first-year – what’s he going to do?”

            “Rose was only a first-year,” Al said without thinking, cursing himself the moment the words left his lips: James would hate being reminded of what had happened on the train.

            “Rose,” James growled. “She’s the problem. He wouldn’t be able to say anything if she’d just done her duty and got put in Gryffindor. She should have; I don’t know why she didn’t.”

            “Maybe someone did Confund the Sorting Hat,” Fabian suggested.

            “Or maybe she’s just too brainy.” Gideon turned his head towards the Ravenclaw table; James was already staring in that direction, having found the one bright flash of red that spoke of Weasley hair at the wrong House table.

            “It’s a stain on the family honor, it is,” James muttered, more to himself than to his friends. “It’s something people are going to hold against all of us, and it’s all her fault.”

            “She couldn’t help what the Sorting Hat did, mate,” Rommy said. “How much time did you get before the Hat yelled out its choice?”

            “Enough to tell it that if I wasn’t getting Gryffindor, I was going home,” he replied. “If she’s not a Gryffindor – maybe she’s not one of us.”

            Al didn’t like the sound of that. “She’s Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron’s daughter. Of course she’s one of us.”

            James folded his arms across his chest, the set of his jaw becoming more resolute. “Or maybe not. Pure-bloods have blood traitors – maybe she’s like that. A House traitor.”

             “It’s not like she’s in Slytherin or anything,” Al said desperately, not liking the idea of where James’s line of thought was heading.

            “She’s in the same House as a Malfoy. And remember the stories Uncle Ron used to tell us about school? It was a Ravenclaw girl who betrayed Dumbledore’s Army to the Ministry.”

            “But Aunt Hermione used to say that she got killed in the war, fighting the Death Eaters,” Al protested, remembering how Aunt Hermione had glared at Uncle Ron for telling that story in the first place.

            It didn’t seem to matter to James. “Look,” he said, pointing. There was a pale blonde head next to Rose’s red one: Scorpius Malfoy. They seemed to be talking to each other, enjoying themselves, heedless of James and his friends halfway across the room.

            “The Ravenclaw table is right next to the Slytherin table,” Fabian added, getting into the spirit of things.

            “Yeah – and what’s the difference between ‘cunning’ and ‘intelligence,’ anyway? Not much,” Gideon said. “She might as well be in Slytherin.”

            “She’s not in Gryffindor, that’s what matters,” James proclaimed. He glowered at Rose, who was completely oblivious to the discussion going on half a room away from her. “We’ll make her pay for it. We’ll find a way.” He clenched a fist. “I’m not taking anything from prats like that first-year for her sake!”  

            Al tried to cast a look at Rommy, who seemed the only member of James’s gang to be even remotely hesitant about vilifying Rose, but Rommy only shrugged as if to say, _I’m going along with it; you might as well, too._ Al knew that an idea, once cemented in James’s skull, was often quite difficult to dislodge. Arguing with James could be like trying to place an Engorgement Charm on a slug: however well-intentioned the original idea, it could only end in a messily unpleasant manner for everyone involved.

            So Al sighed and slipped quietly back to a place farther down the table, where he could eat in silence.

            He only looked up when he felt a cold, slippery feeling in his arm. It was extremely unpleasant, the tactile equivalent of hearing nails on a chalkboard: the feeling of a ghost passing through his body.

            Looking up, though, he had to try to smile. “Nearly Headless Nick,” he said.

            “Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service,” Nick said, bowing and lifting his head half-off as he did so. “What are you so unhappy about?”

            “You’ve heard about my cousin, Rose, haven’t you?”

            “Who hasn’t? She’s only the first Weasley in Merlin knows how long not to be placed in Gryffindor.”

            “You – you don’t think she’s a traitor to her House, do you?”

            Nick laughed. “How can someone be a traitor to a House they’ve never been Sorted into?”

            “But – if everyone else in their family is—” Al paused. “I don’t think she is. But I don’t understand why she isn’t here. She’s braver than I am.”

            “Well—” Nick shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of students come through this school, and sometimes, they don’t seem like a good fit for their House at first. Even a lot of the professors. Professor Hagrid, Professor Longbottom – there were a fair number of people who thought they ought to have been in Hufflepuff when they were first Sorted. The other House ghosts and I get together every year and talk about it – well, mostly me and the Fat Friar,” he admitted, as Al looked across the Great Hall to see the Bloody Baron at the Slytherin table and the equally silent Grey Lady of Ravenclaw floating not far from the Ravenclaw table. “But you should’ve heard him talk; he thought he’d been cheated both times. But Professor Hagrid’s a Gryffindor through and through, and everyone knows the stories about how Professor Longbottom stood up to You-Know-Who and his snake using Godric Gryffindor’s very own sword. It just took a while for people to realize it.”

            “But Rose has always been brave,” Al protested. “And everyone knows she’s smart, but Aunt Hermione’s smart, too, and she was in Gryffindor.”

            Nearly Headless Nick paused to consider that. “Well, sometimes you can be brave and in a different House,” he said. “There have been courageous Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. No one would ever say the Bloody Baron wasn’t brave – at least not to his face,” he said, lowering his voice.

            “Then why did the Sorting Hat put her in Ravenclaw? If she was brave and smart, shouldn’t it have put her in Gryffindor, with her family? How does it decide?”

            Nick smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes, I don’t know how the Sorting Hat decides. But I trust it. It’s never been wrong, you know.”

            “Never?” That helped assuage Al’s feelings about himself, if nothing else.

            “Never.” Nick put a hand on Al’s shoulder, or rather, _through_ Al’s shoulder; it was all Al could do to keep from shuddering, not wanting to hurt Nick’s feelings. “So don’t worry.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Besides, being in another House isn’t necessarily bad – sometimes, I wonder if I’d had a bit more of a head on my shoulders, so to speak, then—”

            “Your head would still be on your shoulders?” Al suggested helpfully.

            Nick frowned. “Exactly,” he said, though he sounded somewhat huffy as he moved away. Al didn’t feel much better for having had the discussion; the fact of the matter still remained that James now had a grudge against Rose, and Al didn’t have the slightest idea what he could do about it.


	10. Chapter Ten

As the days began to pass, Rose found that she couldn’t regret being Sorted into Ravenclaw. Scorpius was quickly becoming her best friend, but most of the Ravenclaw first-years were friendly. She could tell that the others were dividing off into groups of friends, too: Faith and Emma were always together, as were Gemma and Aspasia. Most of the boys stuck together, though Rose hadn’t quite matched many of their names to their faces, save for Scorpius, of course, and Ciaran Shanahan: Ciaran and Cait Llewellyn had become fast friends with a mutual love of Quidditch and Professor Griffiths, their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

            Rose liked Professor Griffiths; she was a young woman with strawberry-blond hair that she kept extremely short and spiky. She’d started their Defense Against the Dark Arts class off by sitting on top of her desk and saying, “I’m a fully qualified Auror. Got my certification, but the Head of the Auror Office thought I liked taking risks too much, so he suggested I try teaching when the last professor retired. I have to say, I’m glad he did: I’m rather fond of it.” She’d grinned, and Rose had let out a breath. Rose’s Uncle Harry was Head of the Auror Office, so she would have been worried if Professor Griffiths was holding a grudge over the transfer.

            “You’ll probably be seeing the Head of the Auror Office a little later in the semester, by the way. I try to get him in at least once a year to lecture to each of my classes. And, if I can, I like to get both Professors Flitwick and Longbottom in here to demonstrate – yes, you Ravenclaws, your Head of House is a dueling champion. Try to get him to tell you about it sometime; he’ll blush and stammer, but don’t let that fool you – he really knows his stuff.”

            “People who practice the Dark Arts don’t hold back, so I don’t see much reason in holding back, either. Knowing how to defend yourselves is important – the worst Dark wizards know everything there is about the Dark Arts, so all of you should know how to defend yourselves against anything they can throw at you. I’d like to see all of you get at least an ‘E’ on your O.W.L., and I’d hope that you keep on for the N.E.W.T., even if you don’t need it for your career. When Lord Voldemort took over, he and his Death Eaters didn’t care if you were in Magical Maintenance or working on a dragon preserve. I don’t think another Lord Voldemort is going to make an appearance any time soon, but I want to make sure that everyone here knows how to fight back if he does.”

            “I don’t lecture much, and I don’t assign much in the way of written homework. Practice is more important. And you’d better practice; if I’m not giving you essays, I expect you to be practicing your spells on each other – in the common room, of course, unless you want Filch on your case! I hold a formal dueling club about once a week. You can get some of your practice in there, if you want. I try to pair students with similar skill levels, so you’re not going to get sent to the hospital wing by some seventh-year.”  

            Hopping off the desk, she’d said, “I’m sick of talking. Let’s go over some elementary spells. In fact, I’m going to teach you the one that Harry Potter used to defeat Lord Voldemort today.”

            They’d learned _Expelliarmus_ , and had been given quite a lot of time to practice. “We’ll go over counterjinxes and all that once you’ve got this down. And I don’t want you using jinxes I teach you in the halls – although I know at least some of you will.” Another grin. “If I see you doing one well, I might even give your House points for it. But you should know you stand to lose more points from other professors than you can get from me, so…well, you know the rules.” She’d grinned again. “All I care about is that, if you use them, you’d better do a good job.”            When she’d fallen silent and no one had moved, she clapped her hands together and said, “Well, go to it! If you need another demonstration, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll be walking around watching you. Work in pairs.”

            “That was great!” Cait had enthused after leaving the class.

            “I know! We learned so much!” Aspasia said. “And no homework except practice!”

            Today was much of the same. Professor Griffiths was finally at the point where she was explaining counterjinxes. “Know the difference between a jinx, a hex, and a curse,” she said. “It’s all about the degree of Darkness. Jinxes are minor – something that might hurt you a little, but usually something that one of your classmates should be able to reverse without a lot of trouble. Hexes are a worse – they might send you to the hospital wing. Curses are the worst: remember, the Unforgivables are called Unforgivable Curses, not Unforgivable Hexes or Jinxes. Some of them can cause permanent damage; others can kill, and not just _Avada Kedavra_. We’re not going to learn about most of the curses until fifth year. Sixth and seventh year, we go over some really Dark magic and how to defend against it – but you won’t find out about that unless you take my N.E.W.T. class.” She grinned again; it was clear she wanted to convince all of them to get their Defense Against the Dark Art N.E.W.T.s. Looking around, Rose thought she was probably going to succeed.

            _I know I’m taking it_ , she thought. Defense Against the Dark Arts was already one of her favorite classes.  

            Professor Griffiths was pacing the room, as if she couldn’t stand staying still for too long. “Now, the naming conventions don’t always work; some things that some people call curses are really jinxes or hexes. It’s just a rule of thumb. I’ll always give you the name of something we learn, and I’ll let you know if it’s misnamed.”

            She grinned. “I think I’ve been talking too long. Let’s go over a few spells and then see what you can do.”

            They went through _Rictumsempra_ and the Leg-Locker Curse, which Professor Griffiths said was improperly named; then, as always, they paired off, Rose with Scorpius.

            “I want to see you practicing things we’ve learned before, too,” Professor Griffiths called out. “You need to remember all these spells – names, pronunciation, wand motion, effect, and counter-spell, if applicable. This material is all we’re going to learn for the week – the rest of our classes are going to be spent in dueling practice.”

            Rose was significantly better at dueling than Scorpius; Scorpius always looked like he was thinking too hard about what he was going to do, or trying to think of what she was going to perform on him before she did it.

            “Don’t think,” she told him as she reversed the Leg-Locker Curse she’d just applied. “Just cast whatever comes to mind. And if you don’t think you can get a counterjinx off in time, _duck_.”

            “Good advice, Rose,” Professor Griffiths called out, appearing at her side. “And an excellent Leg-Locker Curse. Take ten points for Ravenclaw. I hope you’re coming out for the dueling club; I think you could give your cousin James a run for his money.”

            “I know she can,” Scorpius said under his breath; Rose didn’t think Professor Griffiths heard.

            “Keep up with the practice, Scorpius. And listen to Rose,” the professor said. “Dueling is less about thinking and more about moving. Practice is the best way to get good at it – I’d like to see you at the dueling club, too.”

            With that, she moved on. They kept practicing until the end of the hour; everyone scrambled to pack up, since Defense Against the Dark Arts was their last class of the day.

            Scorpius sighed as they trudged out into the hallway. “I wish I was better at this. It’s my worst subject.”

            “Herbology’s mine,” Rose said. “The written assignments are interesting, but…” She made a face.

            “It’s not hard, like this,” Scorpius said.

            “But it’s so boring. Professor Longbottom is nice, but I really hate working in the greenhouses. Potting plants, looking at leaves to figure out which ones are magical plants and which ones are mundane, digging…ick. Astronomy’s second-most-boring, but it’s nowhere near as bad. At least the stars are pretty – bubotubers definitely aren’t.”

            She heard the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. Whirling, she saw that Professor Longbottom was standing right behind them; she had no idea when he’d appeared, but she knew he had to have heard everything.

            “Ne-Professor,” she stammered. “I—”

            He looked sad. “I’m sorry to hear that my class is your least favorite, Rose.”

            She could feel her face turning red. “I – I didn’t mean – you’re a good teacher,” she finally managed. She couldn’t lie to him, not after he’d overheard everything. “It’s—”

            “Just not as interesting as classes where you get to use your wand? I thought you liked Potions.”

            “I do,” she said, before realizing that she really should’ve lied. _He knows I don’t like Astronomy and Herbology – Potions would be another class where we don’t use wands_ , she thought. But it was too late; the words were already out of her mouth.

            “Your cousins have always liked my classes,” he said, still sounding stung.

            “I…” Rose was at a loss for words. She knew they probably did like Herbology; after all, Neville was a family friend.

            _And he’s nice_ , she thought again. He was a good professor; she wasn’t lying. She just hated the practical part of working in the greenhouses.

            He was eyeing the Ravenclaw emblem on her robes. “Then again, maybe you’re not like your cousins. I still can’t believe you’re not in my House; I was so disappointed. What happened?”

            “I—I don’t know,” Rose said, finally making a decision to lie. “The Sorting Hat decided. It went so fast; it said I was smart, and then it put me in Ravenclaw.” 

 _I can’t tell Neville I asked for Ravenclaw,_ she thought _. He wouldn’t understand. He’d probably think it was because I didn’t like him._

            “I don’t know why it chose Ravenclaw,” Neville said. “It always goes with families.” His gaze fell on Scorpius, and his face twitched a little in an instinctive expression of dislike. “At least, it almost always does. Although sometimes I wonder if the Sorting Hat can make mistakes – if it did, at least this year.” His eyes flickered to Scorpius again.

            He sighed. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. And I’m sorry you don’t like my class.” With that, he went off.

            Rose felt stung, but she knew she really couldn’t say anything. _I wish he’d stayed_ , she thought. _I could at least have apologized._

            “He doesn’t like me,” Scorpius said quietly.

            “That’s not true! He’s just mad at me,” Rose said. “I shouldn’t have said it.” She could feel her cheeks turning red again. “But I didn’t know he was right behind us!”

            “I’m sorry. If it wasn’t for me—” he apologized, but Rose was having none of it.

            “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who asked for Ravenclaw. And I’m glad I got it, too,” she said fiercely. “D’you think I’d really want to be in a House with James, Rommy, Fabian, and Gideon? I would spend half my first year sprouting feathers or running a fever.”

            She spoke angrily, but the anger was to cover up her discomfort. She could understand Neville’s disappointment in her – not only had she not gotten Gryffindor, she’d essentially told him she hated his class – but she wished he could understand that she felt terrible about what she’d said, and that her decision to go into Ravenclaw hadn’t had anything to do with him.

            But she knew Scorpius was almost as upset as she was: she knew he was blaming himself for Neville’s reaction, and she wasn’t going to let him shoulder the blame. So she covered her feelings up with a strong air of exasperation. “Honestly, they shouldn’t be throwing such a fit about it. James, I can understand – but Neville? And Dad? They’re old enough that they ought to know better. So I didn’t get Gryffindor! It’s not like I’m a whole different person because of it!” She cracked a smile, although it felt a little forced. “It’s not like I got Slytherin! Merlin’s pants!”

            She saw Scorpius give her an encouraging smile back, and she felt better.  

            “Come on,” she said. “Let’s put our books away and get down to dinner. I’m starving.” 


	11. Chapter Eleven

            The first week of school passed quickly, and before Al knew it, it was time to meet Hagrid for tea. He knew James, Fabian, Gideon, and Rommy weren’t coming: Hagrid’s hut was too small to hold everyone in one sitting, so the second-years were going to meet Hagrid on Sunday. It made Al feel rather left out; he would have liked to gone with the older boys. But he would be glad to see Rose, and he knew that Rose would probably be happy not to have to have tea with the four of them.

            _Plus, next year, Trina and Thecla will be here, and then there’ll be four of us to have tea on our day,_ he thought, _and then the year after that Lily and Hugo will probably end up having their own day for tea, unless they try to squeeze in with us_. He had the feeling they might end up doing the former: five people, including Hagrid, was a tight squeeze, and expecting more was unreasonable. Picturing everyone from James, Rommy, Fred, and George down to Lily and Hugo trying to fit in Hagrid’s hut at the same time made him smile, especially as his daydream grew more comical and he started to imagine a hut with random arms and legs sticking out of the windows and doors.

            _Friday it is, then_ , Al thought, _and tea for the two of us and Hagrid_. He was eager for it: as soon as his last class ended on Friday, he bounded down to Hagrid’s. Hagrid was waiting for him, and opened the door before he’d even finished knocking.

            “Come in,” Hagrid said, ushering him inside. “Yeh’ve beat Rose. I’ve got the tea on. Biscuit?” He proffered a tray that had several rock-hard biscuits on it. “I baked ‘em myself.”

            Al eyed the biscuits, weighing the merits of being polite against breaking his teeth. “I’ll wait for the tea, thanks,” he decided.

            “How’s your firs’ week of school goin’?” Hagrid asked him, then said sharply. “Tiny! Down!” Hagrid’s dog, which was more the size of a small dragon than a dog, was trying to jump into Al’s lap. Al shifted uncomfortably; he didn’t particularly like animals, especially big ones, but he knew he couldn’t tell Hagrid that.

            Tiny obeyed and settled down at Al’s feet. “Sorry ‘bout that, Al,” Hagrid apologized. “He jus’ likes people, tha’s all. Good judge of character, Tiny.”

            He carried the teapot to the table. “Now we’ve jus’ got to wait fer Rose,” he said, pouring the tea into cups. “It’ll take some time to cool off anyway. How’s yer first week goin’?” he repeated.

            “Good, I guess,” Al said. “I like all my courses, pretty much. Herbology is really interesting, and I think I like it best. Transfiguration is definitely hardest. Charms is fun. And there are a lot of really nice people in my House.” He’d spent most of his classes, except for Herbology, sitting with Josh Leith and Eric Foster. “I wish Rose was in Gryffindor too. But I think she likes Ravenclaw.”

            “Couldn’ believe it when she got Ravenclaw,” Hagrid agreed. “Thought she’d be Gryffindor fer sure.”

            “She likes it,” Al repeated. “She seems really happy. James wants to kill her, though. He’s really angry. I don’t think he understands how she can be happy in Ravenclaw. And he doesn’t like—”

            Al was interrupted by the sound of knocking. “That should be Rose,” Hagrid said happily. Going to the door, he said, “It’s abou’ time! Where have you—” As his gaze moved over Rose and to the person standing behind her, the words died on his lips.

            “I brought a friend,” Rose said, looking hopefully at Hagrid. “It’s all right, isn’t it? I figured since it was only me and Al, we could fit another person in, and I didn’t think you’d mind.”

            “I told you I shouldn’t have come,” Scorpius muttered from behind her. He looked at Hagrid. “I’m really sorry. I can go—”

            Rose turned and shot a look at him. “No, you’re not,” she said. She turned back to Hagrid. “This is my best friend, Hagrid. His name’s Scorpius.”

            Hagrid was staring at him, wide-eyed. “Yeh – yeh’re friends with—”

            “Scorpius. He’s in Ravenclaw too,” Rose said defiantly. She sounded ready for a fight. “Al knows he’s really nice. Don’t you, Al?”

            “Yeah,” Al said, knowing he had to say something. “We sit together in Herbology.”

            “See?” Rose demanded. “We met on the train.”

            “Do – do yeh know who his father is?” Hagrid managed to get out.

            Rose exploded. “As a matter of fact, I do. He’s Scorpius Malfoy, and his dad is Draco Malfoy, and Draco was really horrible to you and my parents and just about everyone when he was back in school and his family was full of Death Eaters and everything. But Scorpius isn’t like that! I don’t care how much he looks like his dad, he isn’t him, and I’m really sick of everyone assuming that he’s a terrible person just because of his name. James tried to curse him on the train because he knew who he was, and he’s hated me ever since I made friends with Scorpius, and I’m so sick of it that I could just scream, Hagrid, it’s not fair! If I’d brought Aspasia or Cait or one of my other friends, you would’ve been fine with it, it’s just because it’s Scorpius, I know it is. I’m so tired of this.” She sounded on the verge of tears.

            Hagrid was still staring at Scorpius. “He – he looks jus’ like—”

            Rose wouldn’t let him finish. “I don’t care what he looks like, or what his name is, or who his parents are. He’s a nice person. Why won’t anyone listen? You know me. I wouldn’t be friends with him if he was horrible. He’s not like his dad, he’s not even in Slytherin, he’s Ravenclaw, like me. And if you’d let him talk he’d apologize for everything his family’s ever done even though it’s not his fault, and everyone treats him the same way because of his family, it’s not fair to him. He shouldn’t have to apologize. It’s not fair. Why don’t people understand?”

            “I’m sorry,” Scorpius apologized as Rose fell silent; if Rose hadn’t been so upset, Al would have laughed aloud. “I know I wasn’t invited. I told Rose I shouldn’t come. I know my family was horrible to you when my dad was at school. I’m really sorry.”

            “See?” Rose said. Turning, she shot an annoyed look at Scorpius. “I should hit you. Stop it already! You shouldn’t have to keep apologizing for something that’s not your fault!”

            “I don’t want you to be upset,” he said. “I can go, and you can have tea with Al and Professor Hagrid. It’s okay; I’ll work on our Transfiguration essay. It’s no big deal.”

            “Don’t say that!” she said. “It is.” She looked back to Hagrid. “If Scorpius can’t come, I won’t, either. It’s not right, and I’m so sick of it, everyone hates me and I’m sick of it—”

            “We don’ hate you,” Hagrid said, finally stumbling upon words. He looked at Scorpius, hesitated, and said finally, “Yeh can come in, both of yeh.” He moved back to the cupboards, pulling out another cup. “Here,” he said, setting it down and filling it up. “Sugar?”

            “Sure, thanks,” Scorpius said, looking a little hesitant. Al could understand why: he knew he wasn’t wanted, but he couldn’t leave without Rose storming out alongside him. He didn’t want to cause any trouble.

            “How’re yeh liking classes, then?” Hagrid asked Rose, still sounding extremely uncomfortable.   

            “Transfiguration’s my favorite, I think,” Rose said, trying not to sniffle. “And Professor Wilkes gives really interesting lectures. For a class where we don’t get to use magic, History of Magic is more interesting than I thought it would be. And Professor Sykes in Charms is funny, I like him.”

            “What’re yeh doin’?” Hagrid yelped; looking over, Al saw that Scorpius had half-slid out of his chair and was playing with Tiny.

            “Oh. Sorry.” Scorpius straightened; Tiny tried to leap up into his lap. “Hey, there,” Scorpius cooed to the giant dog. “Get down. I don’t think I’m supposed to be playing with you. Get down,” he repeated. Tiny didn’t listen.

            “Tiny, get down, yeh big brute,” Hagrid said; as always, the dog obeyed him.

            “Sorry,” Scorpius apologized again; Rose was glaring at him again, but Scorpius completely missed it. “My dad says I should ask before I play with other peoples’ pets. I know I should, but…” He smiled at the dog. “He’s nice.”

            “Yeh like animals?” Hagrid sounded surprised.

            Scorpius nodded eagerly. “I was so happy when my parents finally let me get Baruffio – my owl. I’ve always wanted a Kneazle, but my parents said I could only take one animal to Hogwarts, and they wanted me to have an owl – for the mail, you know, so I wouldn’t have to use a school owl. And they wouldn’t get me another pet that I could only see over the summer and on holidays.” He frowned. “Besides, Mum likes Crups better. She’s not a Kneazle person. But when we went to Diagon Alley, I wanted to get one so badly – it was so hard to watch the kittens playing together in the windows at the Magical Menagerie and not go home with one. But I like Baruffio a lot. He’s a good owl.” He looked back to Tiny. “You said his name’s Tiny?”

            Hagrid nodded as Tiny’s ears perked up. “Runt o’ th’ litter. Third dog I’ve had. Don’ know what breed – mutt of some sort, probably.”

            “How old is he?”

            “Three.”

            “Good dog,” Scorpius said, scratching Tiny’s ears; the big dog had flopped itself over his feet.

            “Yeh think yeh’ll take Care of Magical Creatures, then, third year?”

            “I want to,” Scorpius said. “I’ve had a copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ since I was eight, and it’s nearly worn through. I don’t know, though. I want to take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, too. I hope that everything fits into the schedule.”

            “Yeah, I remember that John wanted to take Muggle Studies and Arithmancy, but he couldn’t do both because they met at the same time, and he didn’t want to bother with a Time-Turner, he was sure he’d mess something up,” Rose remembered. “I don’t think I’d want to bother with one, either. It seems like so much of a hassle.”

            After that, conversation came more easily, and Hagrid didn’t seem quite so hostile towards Scorpius. Al thought that it might have been because Scorpius and Hagrid both clearly loved animals so much; when Hagrid mentioned that he might show them some of the magical creatures he worked with before they ever got to third year, Scorpius eagerly asked if he could come along before he remembered Hagrid wasn’t supposed to like him. By that time, though, Al didn’t think Hagrid remembered it himself.

            _The longer you spend around him, the more you realize he’s nothing like his dad,_ Al thought. Al knew of Draco Malfoy only through his parents’ stories, but everything he’d ever heard was bad. He knew that Scorpius’s dad had tried to get Hagrid fired more than once, and that his granddad had once had him sent to Azkaban, wrongfully accusing him of setting a basilisk loose in the school. Scorpius, though, was unfailingly polite, and accepted one of the rocklike biscuits gratefully, trying his best to gnaw a bit off a corner. The longer they stayed, the more Scorpius opened up; the more he talked, the less tense Rose got.

            “I really like Ravenclaw,” Rose said. “I do. I know everyone else wanted me to go Gryffindor, but…I actually really like being in Ravenclaw. The common room is so pretty, and everyone’s really nice.”

            “I like it too,” Scorpius said. “I know everyone thinks I should’ve got Slytherin, but I didn’t want it.” He tried a smile. “I guess I’m not a very good pure-blood. All that pure-blood stuff – it’s so stupid. Not that I can ever tell my parents that. They’re really disappointed I didn’t get Slytherin.”

            “Just like Dad was really disappointed I didn’t get Gryffindor,” Rose said. “Guess what he did?” She told Hagrid the story about the cake.

            “I never thought yeh’d get Ravenclaw, either,” Hagrid admitted. “It wasn’ jus’ James who didn’t believe it – none of us professors could, either.”

            “I know,” Rose said, looking troubled.

            “But – none of you are upset, are you?” Scorpius asked, glancing over at Rose.

            “No. Rose – yeh didn’t think anyone would be mad at yeh for not gettin’ Gryffindor, did you?”

            Al could tell from Rose’s expression that it was exactly what she’d been worried about.

            “Nobody’s mad at yeh,” Hagrid reassured her.  

            “James is,” she said, making a face. “James and Fabian and Gideon and Rommy – they’re all mad.”

            “Well, they’ll get used to it,” Hagrid said sensibly. “They have to, don’ they? It’s not like anything’s goin’ ter change.”

            Al was silent; somehow, he wasn’t so sure of that. James was still glowering any time anyone spoke of Rose, and Nick Shea was still trying to provoke James, although he was only doing it when there was a teacher within eyeshot; apparently, he didn’t want to get sent to the hospital wing again.

            But he wouldn’t tell Rose that: she looked much happier than she had when she’d arrived, and he wasn’t going to spoil her mood.

            _I just hope that James does get over it_ , he thought.  


	12. Chapter 12

Al sighed. They were already over a month into the term, and things hadn’t improved one bit. James was still obsessed with Rose and Scorpius.

            “Ravenclaw,” he snarled almost daily. “Neither of them should be in Ravenclaw. That pure-blooded prat should be in Slytherin with the rest of his Death Eater friends, and she should be in Gryffindor with us.”

            Al knew by now that pointing out that Scorpius didn’t have any Slytherin friends wouldn’t help; nor would saying that Rose and Scorpius were both happy where they were, or even that the Sorting Hat was never wrong. He’d tried telling his brother each and every one of those things at one time or another, only to find that anything he said only made James angrier. He was tired of making James angry.

            _What happened?_ he wondered. At home, they’d always been friends, running around together, playing with their Uncle Fred and George’s fireworks. And when there had been big family gatherings – which, somehow, the Lupins had always showed up to, even though they weren’t actually related – things got even better.

            James, Fabian, Gideon, Rommy, Rose, Lily, Hugo, Trina, Al, and even Thecla: all of them had always had a good deal of fun together, playing Quidditch or racing each other on their brooms, setting off fireworks, running around crazily, planning wild schemes, and occasionally doing something that got them all in a good deal of trouble.

            Al wasn’t a natural troublemaker, but James could always convince him to tag along; somehow, when James was around, he always found himself getting involved. And, no matter how much trouble he’d gotten in afterwards, it had been fun.

            Back then, James and Rose had always gotten along. James was the leader of their group, but Rose had been an eager participant in many of his schemes. She never tagged along with them for the more outlandish things, the ones that usually ended up with James, Rommy, Hugo, Fabian, Al, Trina, Lily, and Gideon ending up grounded for a week; somehow, Rose seemed to have a sixth sense about exactly how much they could get away with. Or maybe it was just a healthy dose of common sense, combined with the ability to walk away; she’d never told their parents about whatever he was planning, but she’d never agree to participate, either.

            During those schemes, Al knew that they were going to get in trouble and that he should’ve sat out, but went along because he wanted to fit in. He had the feeling that Rommy Lupin often felt the same way.

            _We were all one big group_ , Al thought. He’d assumed everything would continue the same way through Hogwarts: James had sent letters home from school all year talking about how much fun he, Fabian, Gideon, and Rommy were having together, at least. Trina, Thecla, Hugo, and Lily weren’t at Hogwarts yet, but Al had been sure that, by his third year, everything would be exactly as it had been at home.

            But it wasn’t. Rose was in Ravenclaw, and friends with a Malfoy, and James was furious. Rose was happy, Scorpius nice, and Al couldn’t fault either of them; but he was also unhappy that James was taking it out on him for being friendly towards both of them.

            _I want to be friends with James’s crowd, too. Just because I’m friends with Rose doesn’t mean I want to stop being friends with them_. Truth be told, he was rather lonely: although he sat with Josh Leith and Eric Foster during classes, he felt like a third wheel. Josh and Eric never actively made him feel unwelcome, but sometimes he got the distinct feeling that they let him sit with them because they felt sorry for him, what with not having any other friends in Gryffindor in their year.

            _We just don’t have enough in common._ Josh and Eric had both been raised by Muggles, and were best friends in part because they could talk about all the aspects of ordinary Muggle life that Al didn’t know anything about. Any time he was around them, he felt rather left out; he knew he could ask them to explain their jokes, but by the time they could explain, the joke had long since stopped being funny.

            He’d thought that James would still let him hang out with them. But when he tried to sit down next to his brother at dinner, James would say something like, “As long as you’re friends with Rose and Malfoy, you can’t sit with us,” and proceed to ignore him. And when James, Fabian, Gideon, and Rommy sat huddled together in the Gryffindor common room, whispering excitedly about the latest mischief they’d come up with, they’d stop talking if he got anywhere near.

            It was only during the times with Rose and Scorpius that he felt almost like he belonged. He tried to spend as much time with them as he could, but, in general, the only times they could meet were in Herbology (the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor double class, Al’s favorite), in the library for an hour or two after dinner, or on the grounds on weekends. He’d tried eating with them, but it felt odd; most other people always ate at their House table, and a red Gryffindor hood stood out in a sea of blue. And, any time he did eat or study with them, James’s silence got a lot colder.

            It wasn’t nearly enough. There wasn’t much they could do in the library. Madam Pince-Filch was always there, yelling at them to be quiet, and in Herbology, they had to pay attention at least some of the time. Even on weekends, it could be difficult to meet; James and his friends were always on the lookout for an opportunity to try to make Rose’s life miserable, and Al knew that if they found her and Scorpius, they’d hex them both.

            _Rose is good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, but she’s not that good,_ Al thought. He knew that he and Scorpius wouldn’t be much help against James, Fabian, Gideon, and Rommy: Professor Griffith’s class was their best, at least James’s, Fabian’s, and Gideon’s. Al’s best subject was Herbology, Scorpius’s Potions, neither of which was much help in a duel.

 _It’s part of the reason why the library’s always a good place to meet,_ Al thought. Madam Pince-Filch wouldn’t stand for a duel in the stacks, and James tended to avoid the library as a matter of course: most of his essay-work was done by copying Rommy, usually at breakfast (or as close to class as he could get without being caught.)

            But Al wished they could meet more often outside of Madam Pince-Filch’s personal domain; sitting together to study wasn’t the same thing as sitting together to talk, particularly when meeting in the library meant they had to spend most of their time whispering or performing spells to conceal their speech. He envied Rose and Scorpius for the time they had in the Ravenclaw common room together, or at the table in the Great Hall, when they could talk as loudly and as much as they wanted.

            He knew that, if he’d mentioned it, Rose and Scorpius would suggest he come to sit with them, but he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t really a Ravenclaw, and he could no more pretend to be one than Rose could have taken James’s suggestion and tried to be a Gryffindor.

            “Al,” Rose said, sounding hesitant; Al looked up from his reading in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_.

            “What?”

            “Scorpius and I should really get going.”

            “But – it’s not close to curfew yet. We’ve still got – what? An hour?”

            “I need to practice the Jelly-Legs Jinx before Dueling Club tomorrow,” Rose said. “I’m not going to let Kevin beat me. I’m still mad he dodged my _Expelliarmus_ last week. I’m going to surprise him – I think he’s been having trouble with Jelly-Legs, and I want to do it _perfectly_ , just to show him up. Plus, I bet Professor Griffiths will give me five points for Ravenclaw if I can beat him with it.”

            Scorpius sighed. “I guess that means I need to go, too.”

            “Who else am I going to practice on?”

            “Which means I get to be all wobbly for the rest of the night.”

            “Not all the rest of the night. It’s not like I’m going to cast it at you and let you stand there and get it – you’ve got to really duel me.”

            “I’ll try.”

            “You need the practice. I know it’s not your favorite class, but how else are you going to learn?”

            “Shouldn’t you go back and work on your Herbology essay, then?” Al asked lightly; he expected Rose to come back with a quick reply, but instead, he was chagrined to see she looked upset, flinching at his words.

            “I really wish Neville hadn’t overheard me. I wish I hadn’t said it!” she said. She’d already told Al about how Neville had overheard her telling Scorpius Herbology was her least favorite class.

            “I don’t think it would have mattered.” In Al’s opinion, Rose’s feelings about Herbology would have been clear in any case. She was still good at it, if not as effortlessly superb as she was in her other subjects; her struggle in the class came from her dislike of working with the plants. But it was clear that she didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as most of her other subjects.

            “It would have,” Rose said, looking upset. “I think it really would have. Neville’s been different towards me this whole semester. You can tell. He likes you, Al, but when he comes over to our table, you’re the only one he talks to. He doesn’t even look at Scorpius, and he only ever talks to me to correct what I’m doing.”

            “He hates me,” she said dejectedly. “He hates me just like James and all the rest of them hate me.” Scorpius opened his mouth to speak, and her eyes flashed.

            “It’s not your fault, so don’t even try to apologize! It’s their fault – it’s their problem!”

            Rose turned back to Al; Al noticed that she was trying to blink back tears, trying not to let the hurt show on her face. “It’s not just in class,” she said to him. “I’ve run into him in the halls, and he’s even less friendly. Sometimes he smiles and says hello, but most of the time he ignores me, or worse.”

            “That doesn’t sound like Neville at all.” Al still couldn’t imagine Neville holding a grudge. _Not like James, at least_.

            “I know it doesn’t, but – but I don’t understand,” Rose said. “He’ll criticize me, or take points from my House – I mean, the one time, I guess I did deserve it—”

            “She was jinxing Ken Smith,” Scorpius interrupted.

            “—but the other times, I wasn’t really doing anything! Not anything anyone usually takes points from for doing, at least!” She made a forcible effort to control her emotions, to step back from being on the verge of tears. After a few long moments, she managed it, and then said in a clear voice, “It’s not my fault. I can’t help it, and if he doesn’t like me because of it, it’s his problem, not mine. I wish he’d be different, but if he’s going to act like James, there’s nothing I can do about it. Just as long as he grades me fairly.” Rose folded her arms across her chest, and Al knew she meant business: Rose wouldn’t stand for receiving anything less than top marks on her exams, not when she knew she deserved them.

            “Well, he has been so far, hasn’t he?”

            Rose nodded. “He’s even been giving Scorpius full marks on everything. He actually got a better grade on the essay last week than I did.”

            “By two points,” Scorpius said, then smiled. “I don’t know how anyone could blame you for getting Ravenclaw. You’ve got the best grades of anyone in our House.”

            “In the school, probably,” said Al.

            Rose turned to Scorpius. “It’s not like anyone could say you don’t belong, either,” she said. “You’re just as good as I am – and probably better in Potions and Charms.”

            Scorpius protested, and it looked like they were going to start bickering in a friendly manner, with Rose insisting that Scorpius was better than she was in Potions, even if Professor Slughorn wasn’t quite as friendly towards him.

            “That only shows you belong in Ravenclaw. Professor Flitwick loves you. I mean, he gave Ravenclaw ten points last week for your essay on the differences between a Silencing Charm and the Quietus Charm.”

            But, as soon as Rose was cheered up, she straightened. “We really need to practice for Defense Against the Dark Arts. There’s Dueling Club tomorrow night, so I guess we’ll see you at that, right?”

            Al nodded, but felt sad. Professor Griffiths always paired them off immediately upon their arrival to the club. She had a spectacular memory when it came to dueling, and always managed to pair them with someone of equal skill. Year and House didn’t matter: James had beaten a third-year Ravenclaw at their last meeting. Rose was almost invariably paired with a Slytherin named Kevin; they were the two best duelists in first year. According to Scorpius, Rose was Professor Griffith’s favorite student, at least out of the Ravenclaws.

            “She’s so good at dueling,” Scorpius had told Al two days ago, during their Monday study session. “I just can’t get the hang of it. It’s my worst subject.”

            “You think too much,” Rose had broken in. “You can’t run through all the spells we’ve learned in your head; you’ve just got to cast one and go.”

            “He can do all the spells,” she explained to Al. “It’s not like he hasn’t got the ability. He just doesn’t do well when we’re doing free-for-all dueling.”

            _Neither do I,_ Al thought, but he was still marginally better than Scorpius, so he wouldn’t be paired with him, either.

            _It’ll probably be Ciaran or Leila_. The first was a Ravenclaw boy, the second a Gryffindor girl; while they were both nice enough, he still wished he could go up against one of his friends. Ciaran wasn’t bad, but Leila was a little too competitive for his tastes; she pouted when he got her first, and gloated when she beat him.

            “Al?” Rose said, shaking him out of his thoughts. “You are going, right?”

            “Yeah,” he said, hoping he might be able to talk a little to Rose and Scorpius at the beginning and the end of the session.

            _Besides_ , he thought _, I really do need the practice_. He was working harder in Defense Against the Dark Arts than in any other class: he had entire family’s reputations to live up to. After all, his dad was the Head of the Auror Department, known for having been able to cast a fully corporeal Patronus Charm in his third year, his mother had received an ‘O’ on her Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T., and James was the best in his entire year in the subject. Al wasn’t bad, but he knew he had to be better; he didn’t want to disappoint his family. 

            “Maybe Professor Griffiths will pair you with Scorpius,” she said. “He’s getting better.”

            “Maybe,” Al said, looking hopeful. To Scorpius, he added, “So practice hard, okay? It’d be great to get to duel you, for a change.”

            “Sick of Leila Ghoul Disarming you?”

            “What, did she tell you?”

            “I heard her bragging about it the other day. When she wins, everyone knows it.” Rose made a face. “When she loses, too.”

            “I think even Professor Griffiths is getting sick of it,” Al said. “Last week, she even told her that this is just practice, not life and death.”

            “Professor Griffiths said that?” Rose looked surprised. Their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was fond of telling them that the lessons they learned in her class could be the difference between living and dying.

            He nodded.

            “Maybe I’ll get you,” said Scorpius. “I am getting better.”  

            “I hope so.”

            Rose checked the clock, looking anxious. “We’ll see you there,” she said as she took her armful of books. “I really need to practice. Come on, Scorpius.”  

            “See you there,” Scorpius offered with a smile. Al smiled back. He knew that, while Rose went to Dueling Club because she liked it, Scorpius went for the same reason he did: he knew he needed the practice.

            Without either Rose or Scorpius to talk to, studying in the library became pointless, and Al headed back to the Gryffindor dormitory.

            “Password?” said the Fat Lady.

            “Godric’s Hollow,” he replied, and the door swung open.

            Once inside, he tried to sit down with his book, but he kept missing the little snatches of conversation he’d had with Scorpius and Rose; studying was somehow more fun when they were around.

            _Plus, when I’m with them, I can always get my questions answered_ , he thought. Rose could always point him to the right page of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ , or take great pleasure in demonstrating the correct way to do a particular jinx; Scorpius could always give him extra advice on what might have gone wrong in his last potion, or show him the right wand motion for the last spell they’d just learned. They never made him feel stupid, either.

            _Rose and Scorpius_ , he thought, _the best friends I have_. They were best friends, too, but it wasn’t like Josh and Eric; Al never felt out of place with them. It was more like he really was a third that fit in. He didn’t feel like he was their second-best friend; he was another, equally best.

            Now, studying in front of the fireplace with his book, he just felt lonely. Looking up, he could see Josh and Eric, engaged in a match of Gobstones; the game had apparently been a present from one of Josh’s uncles to him upon receiving his Hogwarts letter, and Josh was taking great pleasure in teaching Eric how it worked. Al knew that he could watch one of their matches; they might even let him play, but it wouldn’t be the same as when he played chess with Scorpius.

            He looked to the corner of the room. James, Fabian, Rommy, and Gideon were huddled up in their familiar spot.

            _If they were being nicer, I could go sit with them_ , he thought. Rommy would study with him; Fabian, Gideon, and James might not have been too concerned about their grades, but Rommy was trying to live up to three older siblings, and was found bent over a book far more than any of the others. Al still wouldn’t have anyone to sit with in classes, but sitting with Eric and Josh wasn’t so bad then.

            He tried to turn his attention back to the book, but couldn’t concentrate _. It’s been two whole months_. Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron had been fine with their daughter getting Ravenclaw; Al had seen some of Rose’s letters from home, and knew that her parents were glad she was adjusting well. And once, when Al had written home to ask his parents what they thought about Rose’s being in Ravenclaw, they’d written him back and said they thought it was just fine, that there were plenty of good people in Ravenclaw, and that the Sorting Hat didn’t make mistakes.

            He’d even written to his parents about Scorpius, once, mentioning that he’d met Scorpius, he was in Ravenclaw, and that he didn’t seem anything like his dad. They’d still given him the same reply: the Sorting Hat didn’t make mistakes. Scorpius might be nicer than his dad had been.

            Al knew it for a fact. He wondered what would happen if he told his parents that he was friends with him.

            Somehow, he didn’t think they’d mind. They might be surprised, but they wouldn’t be upset; after all, Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron hadn’t gotten mad at Rose, and she said she’d mentioned Scorpius in some of her letters.

            _Everyone else is fine with it,_ he thought, looking at his brother. _Why aren’t you?_  

            He shifted and tried to turn his attention back to his book, but the sound of laughter kept carrying over from the corner of the room, distracting him. For some reason, it seemed easier to pick that sound out of the general din in the common room; every time he tried to concentrate on Transfiguring a teacup or Charming a caterpillar, he found himself hearing the sound of laughter, wishing he could be a part of it.

            Finally, he could take it no longer. He stood up, folded his book up, and walked over to them. Immediately, as always, the laughter died down as they caught sight of him, and they fell silent.

            James turned. “What do you want?” he asked.

             “Why does it have to be one or the other? I mean, why can’t I be friends with both Rose and you?”

            “And Malfoy?”

            “And Scorpius,” Al said, his heart beating a little faster in his chest as he stood up to James. He hadn’t forgotten what had happened on the train, how he’d stood by and said nothing as James had prepared to hex Scorpius. He knew that he should’ve stood up to James then, and he still felt the shame of having stayed silent, of how Rose had been braver than he’d ever been; he’d felt worse when Scorpius had forgiven him for that inaction so easily. Now that Scorpius was his friend, he’d sworn he’d always defend him.

            _Rose and Scorpius have been better friends to me than you_ , he wanted to say. _They wouldn’t mind if I hung out with you; they’d understand._

            But he wasn’t brave enough to say that much. He knew that if he did, James would never let him into his group.

            “Scorpius,” James said, sneering.

            “He’s not bad,” Al protested, although his voice sounded weaker than he wished it was.   “If you’d have talked to him instead of trying to hex him—”

            “Talk. To Malfoy.”

            “It’s not like before,” Al protested. “Scorpius isn’t his dad. You’re not Dad.”

            He’d struck a nerve. “It’s exactly like before! The Malfoys are still pure-bloods. They were still Death Eaters during the war. They still got out of Azkaban when they shouldn’t have. He still would’ve gone into Slytherin, if he’d had the choice.”

            “No, he wouldn’t,” Al began, but he knew it was no use. It was never any use, and he was only making James angrier.

            “Nothing’s changed! What’s changed, then? Malfoy’s exactly like his parents, Slytherin is still full of pure-bloods who think they’re better than everyone else, we still hate them, they still hate us—”

            “Scorpius isn’t in Slytherin.”

            “If he was really different from his parents, the Sorting Hat would’ve put him in Gryffindor, like it put Sirius in Gryffindor.” James’s middle name, Sirius, was for the man who’d been a friend of both Harry and the first James Potter. Sirius, like James’s other namesake, had been killed fighting in the war. “The Ravenclaws are friendlier with the Slytherins than anyone. He’s not _really_ different.”

            James drew himself up. “We’re not any different,” he said, gesturing to his friends. “You remember all the stories Dad tells us about Granddad Potter and his friends?”

            Al nodded. Rommy’s dad had told him many of the same stories.

            “Well, there were four of them, all Gryffindors in the same year, and there are four of us, all Gryffindors in the same year – all real Gryffindors. We’re the New Marauders. We’re like them, but better; we’re not going to have any traitor in our ranks.” And, with a glower, James pointedly turned his back on his little brother.

            Al wasn’t ready to give up. “What about Lily, then? Or Trina and Thecla? Or Hugo? What happens when they come to Hogwarts? Are you going to ignore them too?” There was a plaintive quality in Al’s voice, although, as he thought about it, it gave him a little hope: if he waited it out another year, he might have some friends in Gryffindor.

            “I’m not hanging around with my little sister at school,” James said disdainfully, turning around to answer him. “And Thecla would never do anything to get in trouble, so she won’t want to hang around with us.”

            Al knew that much was true; Thecla Lupin had always been reluctant to break rules or get into trouble, and any participation she’d had in their schemes was always the result of her twin sister dragging her into it. “Trina won’t do anything if she can’t get Thecla involved.” That wasn’t always true, but Al had the feeling it might be at school, since Trina and Thecla would have their older siblings’ reputations to live up to. Rommy wasn’t exactly a role model, but the rest of his siblings were: Missy was a prefect with a tremendous number of Outstanding O.W.L.s, Teddy had been Head Boy and Quidditch captain, and even bookish, unassuming John was known for having an exceptional amount of talent in both Potions and Herbology.

            “Hugo?” Al knew that his younger cousin somewhat hero-worshiped James, and he knew that Hugo had always been overshadowed by his older sister; he could definitely see Hugo joining James and his crowd, if he’d let him.

            “We’ll see,” James replied. “We’ll see if he’s a _real_ Gryffindor. Unlike some people.”  

            The insult stung more than James knew. “What would I have to do to get you to accept me?” he asked.

            “Quit seeing Rose and Malfoy. Stop being so friendly with them. No running around with them every chance you get, no studying with them, nothing.” James folded his arms across his chest. “In fact, I’d say you’d have to hex both of them pretty good – where we could see it – before you could hang around with us.”

            “Yeah, mate,” Gideon said. “It’s either them or us.”

            “You can’t have it both ways,” Fabian chorused.

            Al knew there wasn’t any choice. “Sorry, then,” he said. Turning, he went back to gather his study materials, then went upstairs; it was getting late anyway.

            But James’s remarks still bothered him as he lay upstairs, trying to fall asleep.

            _Only real Gryffindors_ , he thought. James had meant only Gryffindors who put their House first, who wouldn’t befriend a Malfoy.

            He couldn’t help but wonder if James had been right. Not in the way he’d intended; Al knew that being friends with Rose and Scorpius didn’t make him any less of a Gryffindor. But he did wonder if he was a real Gryffindor, or if the only reason the Sorting Hat had put him into Gryffindor was because he had asked for it.

 _There’s plenty of good Gryffindor material here,_ it had said. _That’s where I thought I’d put you, in the end._

            _I didn’t let it think. I didn’t let it do whatever it does. I asked it._ What if he’d let the Sorting Hat think for a while, consider its choice? Would it have chosen differently? What if he hadn’t told him any preference? Where would it have put him then?  

            He couldn’t help but start to wonder. _Would I have been happier in Ravenclaw, with Rose and Scorpius? At least then I’d have friends._ He could have asked the Sorting Hat to go with Rose. But he knew, in his heart, he wasn’t really Ravenclaw material; he wasn’t anywhere near as smart as Rose or Scorpius or even someone like that girl he’d met on the grounds the first day, Aspasia Reed. He didn’t like doing homework, or fly through books the way they did.

            _What about Hufflepuff? Or Slytherin?_ Al still shuddered at the prospect of the latter; he knew he wasn’t ambitious or cunning or able to break rules easily, but he was pure-blood, and he worried that the Sorting Hat might have seen something in himself that he couldn’t.

            _What if I should have been in Slytherin?_ he wondered. _I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. I don’t feel like I’m good enough for any House._ Being unhappy in Gryffindor only made things worse; it made him feel like he had been mis-Sorted, even more so than Rose. Rose could have been Gryffindor, he was sure – but the Sorting Hat had known she’d be happy in Ravenclaw, and had put her there.

            _I sure don’t think she asked for it,_ he thought. Rose had been so anxious on Platform 9 ¾ about getting Gryffindor, so sensitive to her dad’s jokes. But she was really and truly happy in Ravenclaw. What if he had let the Sorting Hat place him where it thought he’d be happiest?

            _If it had put me in Slytherin, would I have been happy there? Or Hufflepuff, for that matter? Would I belong in one of those Houses more than I belong in Gryffindor?_ He didn’t know – and he could never know, because he hadn’t let the Hat make up its mind on its own.

            _Just because you don’t agree with James doesn’t mean that you don’t belong in Gryffindor,_ he told himself. Just because James was mad at him didn’t mean he didn’t belong in the same House as him, just as he didn’t feel that he would really have belonged in Ravenclaw, even if he was best friends with Rose and Scorpius.

            _Well, it’s almost Thursday. Maybe we’ll see each other at Dueling Club, but even if we don’t, there’s always Friday,_ he thought. Friday afternoons were Al’s favorite part of the week: it meant tea with Hagrid, Rose, and Scorpius. His least favorite parts of the visits to Hagrid’s hut were the rocklike biscuits and the fearsome Tiny, but at least Scorpius kept Tiny occupied most of the time, and, on the days when the biscuits were well and truly inedible, Al could always surreptitiously hand them to Scorpius, who would feed them to Tiny when Hagrid wasn’t looking.

            _One more day,_ he reminded himself as he fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Madam Pince did get married to Filch. Inspired by Ron's comments in HBP.


	13. Chapter 13

“That’s all, class,” Professor Wilkes said. “You can go.”

            The sound of thirteen Ravenclaws slamming their books shut at the same time echoed through the classroom.

            “I hate Friday afternoon classes,” Professor Wilkes muttered. Talking to herself, she said, “That’s why I don’t schedule the N.E.W.T. classes for the afternoons. At least they’re paying attention for what matters.”

            Scorpius knew that Professor Wilkes wasn’t fond of teaching the early years of History of Magic; for the O.W.L. level of the class, the course was a survey of important Wizarding events in European (and more particularly British) history, from the earliest archaeological traces of the Wizarding world in 5000 B.C. to the fall of Grindelwald in 1945. She’d already made it clear several times that she much preferred the subject of her N.E.W.T. class to the basic O.W.L material; first year of History of Magic covered from the earliest traces of magic around the globe through the most famous events of the ancient Wizarding world, and the second- through fifth-year courses continued on, starting where first-year History of Magic left off and proceeding chronologically.

            “This course starts in your first year, in the murky mists of time,” Professor Wilkes had said their first day, “and ends when Albus Dumbledore defeats Gellert Grindelwald, about a month before your O.W.L.s, if I’m running on schedule.”

            Thus far, they were still mired in the murky mists of time. Scorpius had to admit that he felt much happier learning about the material covered in first term than he thought he would be in sixth- or seventh-year History of Magic, when they got around to covering the events of the recent past. He enjoyed reading about the different arguments over dating the earliest traces of magic in Britain in his textbook ( _Wizarding Around the World: From Ancient to Modern Times_ , by Melia Blackstone), discussing the differences between primitive British magic and other early magical cultures around the world, or even hearing Professor Wilkes give her opinions on various other historians’ unsubstantiated theories over how magic had arisen in the first place, when the wand had been invented, or how long it took for individual wizards and witches to discover one another and coalesce into a community. He thought all the discussions were interesting, and he liked them because he knew that, however old his family claimed to be, there were no Malfoys running around in 4000 B.C. that he’d have to feel ashamed of.

            In modern history, though…

            He tried not to think about it as he zipped up his backpack. That was years in the future, and maybe he wouldn’t even take History of Magic at the N.E.W.T.-level. He supposed it all depended on what he decided he wanted to do when he got older, and what he could fit into his schedule, and what he got on the History of Magic O.W.L.

            _Not to mention a thousand other things that I don’t have to think about yet_ , he told himself, waiting for Rose to finish throwing a last bit of parchment into her bag. “Come on,” he urged her. “It’s Friday.”

            “I know, I know,” she said, pulling on the zipper and nearly zipping up the parchment in the process. Finally, she got it. “Don’t want to keep Hagrid waiting!”

            “Besides, the earlier we get there, the longer we can stay,” Scorpius said. They usually took tea with Hagrid from the time that he finished teaching his last class – which was usually about the time it took them to get from the castle down to his home on the grounds – until it was time for dinner in the Great Hall.

            After the first rocky beginnings, Scorpius had found that he loved visiting Hagrid’s hut; Hagrid seemed to have warmed to him, and he always let him play with Tiny as much as he wanted.

            _Hagrid’s so nice,_ he thought. His mother had never taken Care of Magical Creatures, but his father had gotten an O.W.L. in the subject, and he’d had nothing but bad things to say about Hagrid. “An idiotic oaf who doesn’t belong teaching,” Draco had told him. “He’s a half-breed – half-giant.”

            “Are you sure?” Scorpius had asked, thinking of the giants in his storybooks: they were invariably very large, very stupid, and very vicious, the illustrations making them look more closely related to trolls than humans. He wasn’t sure that giants were smart enough to learn anything, let alone teach.

            “You’ll only have to look at him to know it’s true. I know you’re interested in Care of Magical Creatures, Scorpius, but you won’t learn anything from him.”

            His grandparents had joined in. “Draco was almost killed in his third year. Attacked by a wild hippogriff that half-breed set on him,” his grandmother said, shuddering. “It was the first day of that wretched animal’s class. Hippogriffs are dangerous creatures!”

            _I’d like to see a hippogriff_ , Scorpius had thought at the time, but hadn’t dared to say anything. Instead, he had let his family continue the lecture.

            “In my day, hippogriffs were only shown to us in seventh year, towards the very end of the course,” his grandfather had added.  “Even then, their inclusion on the curriculum was questionable. Professor Kettleburn was known to be rather…free…in his teaching methods.”

            “The hippogriff that attacked _me_ had to be put down,” his father said.

            “Well, they couldn’t let it live,” his grandmother had added. “We were worried for his life,” she said, turning back to Scorpius. “But what do you expect, when they put a creature in charge of teaching Care of Magical Creatures?”  

            Since then, he’d both learned that giants were just as smart as humans – at least, Hagrid was nothing like what his parents had said – and Rose had told him what had really happened with the hippogriff. Scorpius didn’t doubt she was telling the truth; she had confirmed that Hagrid really was half-giant, and Scorpius knew that his family would have used any incident, no matter how minor, to get a half-giant off of Hogwarts’ teaching staff. After all, his family had complained often enough in the days before he’d left for Hogwarts.

            “Half-breeds and blood traitors. Is that’s what’s to teach our son, Draco? I know you loved Hogwarts as much as I did, but don’t you think we should consider sending him to Durmstrang?”

            “Hogwarts has always been good enough for the Malfoys,” his father had said, and his grandmother’s insistence that her only grandson stay close to home had decided it.

            As Hagrid’s hut came into view, Scorpius knew that, if his parents knew exactly how he was spending his Friday afternoons, they would undoubtedly have packed him off to Durmstrang in an instant.

            _A Weasley, a Potter, and a half-giant_ , he thought as Rose knocked on Hagrid’s door. _I wouldn’t have to worry about getting sent to Durmstrang. They’d kill me._

            But he wouldn’t have spent his time any other way. He loved Hagrid’s. After the first few meetings, Hagrid  had grown considerably warmer, and now he seemed just as happy to see Scorpius as he was to see Al and Rose.

            Today was no different. Hagrid opened the door. “Rose! Scorpius! I’ve jus’ got back from class myself. I’ve got th’ tea boilin’. Still waitin’ on Al.”

            “He’s coming from…what? Potions? It might take him a little longer – he’ll have to clean out his cauldron and stuff.”

            “Is he likin’ Potions, do yeh know?”

            “I think so,” Rose said.

            “I don’t think he likes Professor Slughorn much,” Scorpius added, bending down to scratch Tiny’s ears; the big dog had already trotted over to Scorpius and flopped down at his feet, ready for attention.

            “He thinks the subject’s all right, but he says Professor Slughorn’s always talking about him or pointing him out to the whole class, or mentioning Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. That’s the part Al hates. You know Al; he doesn’t want the attention.”

            “Neither would I,” said Scorpius, shuddering. Thus far, Professor Slughorn was mostly content to ignore him, although Scorpius thought that the professor was, unfortunately, starting to take notice of his Potions ability. “I don’t know how you deal with it, Rose.”

            “I don’t mind! All he does is talk about how good my potion is or how good Mum was at Potions.” Rose shrugged. “If he’s giving you compliments, why should you feel uncomfortable? Everyone knows you’re good at Potions.”

            “I know,” Scorpius said, but he couldn’t help feeling uneasy with the professor’s attention. There was something…not insincere, but not entirely right with the compliments. “I feel like he’s…examining me for something.”

            “I know how yeh feel,” said Hagrid. “I’ve never really liked ‘im myself. I mean, the man’s not entirely bad – he fought in th’ Battle of Hogwarts, an’ he came to Aragog’s funeral – have I ever told yeh about Aragog?”

            Rose nodded, looking for all the world as if she really didn’t want to hear about it. Scorpius suppressed a grin; he’d heard from Rose how, when she was small, Hugo had once asked their father for the scariest bedtime story he could think of. Her dad had responded with a tale about Hagrid’s ‘pet’ Acromantula that had frightened both Rose and Hugo so much that they’d both insisted on sleeping in their parents’ bed for a month.

            “Mum wouldn’t let Dad tell us another bedtime story for a solid six months after that,” Rose had said when she’d first told him what she called “The Spider Story,” before lowering her voice and adding, “Don’t tell anyone, but Hugo still has nightmares about spiders.”

            But Scorpius knew Rose didn’t like spiders any more than her little brother, and Rose looked more than a little uneasy as Hagrid began, “Aragog. He was th’ best pet you could ‘ave wanted. I got ‘im when he was jus’ a baby, see, an’ I raised ‘im right in Hogwarts. ‘S why they expelled me – though’ I was raisin’ that basilisk You-Know-Who woke up.” His face darkened, and Scorpius was about to suggest a change of subject when another knock came at the door.

            “That’ll be Al, then,” Hagrid said, and got up. It was indeed him, and Al brightened as he came inside.

            “Hagrid! Scorpius! Rose!”

            “I didn’t see you at Dueling Club yesterday,” Rose said.

            “I saw you. You got stuck with Leila again, didn’t you?” Scorpius hadn’t been able to get over to Al to say hello, but he’d seen him. 

            Al made a face. “Yeah. I beat her, though, and that’s the second week in a row, so maybe next week Professor Griffiths will put me with someone else. How’d you do?”

            “All right, actually. She put me with Nan something-or-other – she’s a Hufflepuff in our year. I beat her.”

            “All that practice with Rose must’ve paid off.”

            “I think it did,” Scorpius said. “And for Rose, too – she flattened Kevin.”

            “Flattened is overstating it,” Rose laughed. “But I got him good. My Jelly-Legs Jinx was perfect.” She beamed. “Next week, Professor Griffiths said I might get to try dueling with one of the second-years.”

            “That’s great, Rose!” The teakettle began to whistle, and Hagrid rose to take the pot off the stove. “Yeh know, it’s a great thing Professor Griffiths is doin’, teachin’ all of yer with that Club. She really knows her stuff.”

            “I don’t think we have a professor who doesn’t,” Rose said. “Everyone’s really good.”

            “Well, Dad says Professor Trelawney’s awful,” Al said.

            “But you’re not going to take Divination, are you?”

            “I haven’t really thought about it yet. Third year’s a long way away.”

            “Yeh all are goin’ ter take Care of Magical Creatures, though, aren’t yeh?”

            Rose and Al nodded immediately, and Scorpius said, “If my parents will let me sign up.” He looked dejected. “It’s the one elective I really want to take, but—” He leaned down to play with Tiny, trying not to think about it. “Maybe they will. Or maybe I won’t have to tell them until after I’ve signed up. I mean, it’s not like a Hogsmeade form – we don’t need our parents to sign off on the courses we want to take, do we?”

            “I don’ think so,” Hagrid said. “I’m not sure – never had a parent who was upset ‘bout a kid wantin’ ter take a class. I’ll have ter check with th’ Headmistress.”

            “I hope we don’t,” Scorpius said. He couldn’t imagine how badly it would close off his N.E.W.T. classes if his parents had any say in what he could take.

            _No Herbology or History of Magic_ , he thought; Professor Longbottom and Professor Wilkes were both blood traitors. _No Astronomy or Care of Magical Creatures_ ; Professor Hagrid and Professor Sinistra were both ‘half-breeds,’ according to his family’s terminology. And he thought, though he wasn’t entirely sure, that the Ancient Runes professor was a Muggle-born.

            “What are you teaching in Care of Magical Creatures now, Hagrid?” Rose asked, taking Scorpius’s mind off of his future problems. He always loved to hear about what Hagrid was teaching.

            “Well, th’ third-years are learnin’ about bowtruckles, an’…” He brightened. “I jus’ brough’ out th’ hippogriffs fer th’ seventh-years. Do yeh want ter see them?”

            “I’d love to!” Scorpius said, before catching himself; he knew that Al and Rose were usually a good deal more hesitant than he was to see the various creatures Hagrid kept for his class. Hagrid had showed them one or two before this, but usually, he’d only showed them the O.W.L. creatures, insisting that he had to leave one or two surprises for them in N.E.W.T. year.

Scorpius wondered if that was why he was offering to show Scorpius a N.E.W.T.-level creature now. _He knows Mum and Dad will never let me take his course at O.W.L. level, let alone N.E.W.T.,_ he thought glumly.

            But his gloom was swept away completely when Hagrid said, “Come on, then, yeh! The tea don’ matter.” He abandoned the kettle and cups, leaving the first cup half-full, the others entirely empty.

            “Hippogriffs,” Al muttered. “Of course he wants to show us hippogriffs.”

            “What do you have against hippogriffs?” Rose asked. “Maybe it’s one of Buckbeak’s kids.”

            “Buckbeak?” Scorpius asked. Hagrid overheard.

            “Buckbeak. Bes’ hippogriff I ever had. Fough’ in th’ Battle of Hogwarts, an’ lived fer a good long while after it, too. He had a good life – found ‘imself a nice mare an’ sired three little hippogriffs with ‘fore he died. One of ‘em, Wispywings, looks jus’ like ‘im.” Hagrid led them a little ways into the Forbidden Forest, where a herd of the creatures were grazing.

            “They’re beautiful,” Scorpius said, staring. They looked even better than the pictures in _Fantastic Beasts_ : half horse, half eagle, with brilliant orange eyes.

            “Beautiful?” Al repeated, taking a step back as one of the hippogriffs fixed its gaze on them.

            “They’re dangerous, too,” Rose said; she held her ground, but looked more than a little nervous as she fixed her gaze on the hippogriff’s six-inch-long talons.

            “Dangerous? No, no, not at all,” Hagrid hastened to reassure her. “Yeh jus’ have ter know how to handle ‘em, that’s all. An’ Wispywings is one of the gentlest hippogriffs I’ve ever seen.” He bowed, maintaining eye contact, and then waited for the hippogriff to return the bow. After a second, Wispywings did so.

            “That’s a good girl, Wispy,” Hagrid said, stroking the hippogriff. “Aren’t yeh a good girl?” 

            “It’s just like in _Fantastic Beasts and How to Find Them_ ,” Scorpius said. “You make eye contact, bow, and wait for it to bow back. And you can’t ever blink.”

            “Reading about it and doing it are two different things,” Rose said. But Hagrid was already saying, “All righ’, which one of yeh is goin’ ter go first?”

            “I will,” Scorpius said.

            Rose grabbed his wrist, pulling him back. “I don’t know about this,” she said, looking from him to Hagrid and back again. “I mean, hippogriffs are for N.E.W.T. students, and we’re only first-years. What if something bad happens? I don’t want to get you in trouble, Hagrid.”

            For a moment, Scorpius remembered his parents’ stories about his father’s near-death experience with this hippogriff’s father, and nearly reconsidered.

            But then he looked at Hagrid. His parents had called Hagrid a dangerous, stupid oaf – just as bad as any storybook giant, violent and dense, without any redeeming qualities.

            The phrase that was fast becoming the mantra of Scorpius’s life repeated itself once more in his mind: _If my parents were wrong about that, then what are the odds that they’re wrong about this, too?_

            “Hippogriffs are a triple-X rating in _Fantastic Beasts_ ,” Rose said.

            “Competent wizard should cope,” Scorpius recited.

            “I’m not trying to say that you’re not competent, Scorpius, but don’t you think we should learn a little bit more about them before you—”

            “Rose, do yeh think I’d really do anythin’ dangerous with yeh?” Hagrid interrupted, sounding hurt.

            She looked up. “No, Hagrid, of course not, it’s just…” It looked as if she was frantically searching for a good way to voice her doubts. Finally, she said, “What if something does happen, and Scorpius gets hurt? They already tried to get you fired once over something like this.”

            “If he does get hurt, he won’ tell his parents,” Hagrid said, before pausing. “No, no, I’m not sayin’ he’ll get hurt at all – he won’, Rose—”

            That decided Scorpius. He wasn’t going to let Hagrid and Rose get into an argument over whether or not Wispywings was dangerous. Instead, he solved the problem by stepping forward and bowing deeply towards the hippogriff, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

            There was a long moment when the hippogriff considered him, watching curiously. The moment grew longer; in the background, Rose and Hagrid’s argument died down as they saw what he was doing. Scorpius wasn’t paying attention to them, though; he was trying desperately not to blink.

            Just when he thought he was going to have to break the stare and hope he didn’t get hurt all that badly, the hippogriff bowed back.

            Cautiously, Scorpius approached Wispywings, then tentatively reached out and stroked the hippogriff’s side. “Good girl,” he said, repeating what Hagrid had said to the animal. “That’s a nice hippogriff.”

            Wispywings bent her head and let out a pleased sound. Behind him, Scorpius thought he could hear Rose sighing in relief.

            “See? There’s nothin’ ter be afraid of. Wispy’s a good hippogriff,” Hagrid said to Rose, sounding half-hurt, half-defensive. “You should try.” Insistently, he prodded Rose forward. He wouldn’t be content until both Rose and Al had approached, despite the protestations of all three that it was fine for just Scorpius to have seen the animal up close.

            Scorpius understood Rose’s nervousness as he watched both his friends repeat the same steps he had taken. He was relieved when both of them did fine; although Rose’s hand shook a little when she reached out to pat the hippogriff, and Al barely touched the hippogriff at all, they both succeeded in approaching the animal without incident.

            “That’s a good Wispy,” Hagrid said. “Do any of yeh want a ride?”

            As much as he liked animals, as much as the sight of the hippogriff made his heart race with excitement, Scorpius hesitated a little at the thought of sitting on top of the huge animal and asking it to take him anywhere.

            _I’m not confident on a broom_. _Do I really want to volunteer to ride a hippogriff? If anything does happen to me, Mum and Dad really will kill me – and Hagrid, too._ He was pretty sure that, while the Headmistress might not have said too much about Hagrid showing his favorite first-years the hippogriff herd, she would definitely have something to say about his sending a first-year on a ride with one of the hippogriffs.  

            Even knowing that, even knowing that the ride would probably be more terrifying than exciting, even knowing that reading about a hippogriff in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ was definitely not the same as flying on one, he had to admit that some small part of him was just a little bit tempted. Even if the rest of him was thinking, _Are you insane?_ , there was some small part of him that wanted to tell Hagrid, “Me! Me! I’ll do it!” 

            Before he could convince himself to either disappoint Hagrid or do something incredibly stupid, Rose interrupted. “Maybe some other time, Hagrid. It’s getting late; we’re going to have to be back at the castle soon, or we’ll miss dinner.”

            Hagrid looked disappointed. “Yeh’re probably righ’,” he conceded. “Maybe some other time, Scorpius.”

            Scorpius managed a smile, not sure how disappointed he really felt. “Rose is probably right,” he felt compelled to say. “Maybe it ought to wait until third year, at least.”

            “ _Third_ year?” Rose repeated. She backed off when Hagrid gave her another hurt look. “Hagrid, I know that Wispy’s a good hippogriff and everything, but…”

            “I’m a little scared of him,” Al spoke up. “I mean, I know…we’ve heard all the stories about Buckbeak, and we know that Dad was good friends with him, but…”

            “I think it’s just that they’re so big,” Scorpius offered, trying to smooth things over. “And the talon, and the way they look at you – they’re beautiful, but they’re a little intimidating, and I’m sure they’d look more dangerous if you didn’t know so much about them.” He looked over at his friends. “I’m sure Rose and Al will feel the same way I do once they’ve read more about them.” He didn’t mention that Rose, at least, had already read _Fantastic Beasts_. “But they really are the most beautiful animals I’ve ever seen, especially Wispy.”

            It seemed to have been the right thing to say, because Hagrid looked mollified. “They are majestic, aren’t they?” He gave them a wide smile. “An’ they’re only one part o’ th’ Hogwarts stable.”

            “I’ve heard you have thestrals,” Scorpius said. “Is it true?”

            “Thestrals?” Al asked.

            “Invisible winged horses,” Scorpius supplied as Hagrid nodded.

            “We’ve got a lot o’ th’ other breeds of magical horses, too.”

            “How do we learn about them if we can’t see them?” Rose wondered.

            “Teach about them? How do you take care of them?” Al asked.

            “They’re only invisible to those who have neither seen nor comprehend the totality of death,” Rose said. “To see a thestral, you have to both witness a death and have come to terms with it.” Scorpius recognized the quote easily: it was nearly word-for-word from the newest edition of _Fantastic Beasts_. “So if you’ve been in a big fight, like the Battle of Hogwarts, you can probably see them.”

            Scorpius paused. He’d never thought that much about that aspect of thestrals. Hagrid, a veteran of that battle, was almost certainly capable of seeing them; now that Scorpius thought about it, he was certain that Hagrid would have had to have seen them earlier, so that he could care for the Hogwarts herd.

            _I wonder who else I know can see them_ , he thought. But as soon as he had the thought, he tried to push it away. It was a question he’d never be able to ask anyone in his family; he suspected that he already knew the answer, and didn’t want confirmation. He didn’t even want to think about the ways the various members of his family might have gained that ability.

            He bit his lip. He felt better when he didn’t have to think about what had happened in the years before he was born, the years when his parents had been in school.

            They made their way back to Hagrid’s hut, and Scorpius remembered to thank Hagrid. “The hippogriffs were really great, Hagrid,” he said. “I’d love to see Wispywings again sometime.”

            “Wispy,” Hagrid said fondly. “Call her Wispy.” His eyes grew watery. “It wasn’ that long ago that old Beaky died. Actually, it was aroun’ the time Fang died. Good dog, Fang. Not that yer any worse, Tiny,” he said to the dog that was looking up at him with large eyes, “but Fang was th’ firs’ dog I had from the time he was a pup, an’ it was hard ter lose him an’ Beaky so close ter one another.”

            Scorpius nodded sympathetically. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be to lose a pet.” He was glad that owls were long-lived pets; an average owl could live more than thirty years.

            _I’ll have Baruffio for decades_ , he thought. Thirty more years was an eternity.

            “Aragog, Fang, Rusty…an’ I haven’t seen Fluffy in years…sometimes I wonder if he’s still wanderin’ the forest somewhere, or if he’s dead too…an’ that’s not even countin’ little Norbert. He’s not dead, but I had to give ‘im away,” Hagrid said, more to Scorpius than to Rose and Al, who seemed to already know what he was talking about.

            “Little Norbert?” Scorpius repeated.

            “Must’ve been almos’ thirty years ago – yer parents were jus’ yer age. Yer Uncle Charlie still sends pictures now and then, Al, Rose.”

            “Wait,” Scorpius said. Rose had mentioned that her Uncle Charlie worked on a dragon preserve in Romania. “Are you saying little Norbert was a _dragon_?”

            “Jus’ a baby. I hatched ‘im myself. A Norwegian Ridgeback, he was.” Hagrid wiped tears away. “I still wonder what he would’ve been like if I could’ve raised ‘im.”

            Scorpius goggled; Rose might tease him for loving animals as much as Hagrid, but not even Scorpius could really sympathize with Hagrid’s desire to raise a baby dragon to full-grown size.

            _I wouldn’t mind seeing a dragon_ , he thought, at least from a distance, but the idea that you could take it and raise it like a pet...

            _Even an Acromantula, for that matter_ , he thought, thinking of Aragog. He believed Newt Scamander when he said that beasts with a quintuple-X rating were untamable, particularly the ones that seemed bent on eating people.

            But he could feel bad for Hagrid when he talked about losing his pets. Scorpius loved animals enough to understand how much Hagrid loved all of his pets, even the ones that he really shouldn’t have tried to keep in the first place.

            “Thanks for showing us Wispy, Hagrid,” Rose said. “Really. I mean, she is…um…” She groped for words before settling on the one Hagrid had used earlier. “Majestic.”

            “Right,” Al said quickly. “Really majestic. Thanks, Hagrid.”

            “We’ll see you next Friday for tea, right?”

            “Just like always.”

            “Thank you,” Scorpius repeated as Rose and Al began trudging back up to the castle. “I really did like Wispy.”

            “Maybe next week, yeh can feed her,” Hagrid suggested. He looked back at Rose and Al, and although he didn’t say anything, Scorpius thought he looked a little sad. 

            “Rose is just a little shy when it comes to animals,” Scorpius said. “She doesn’t like dealing with stuff that’s alive. She has trouble in Herbology, too, especially when we’ve got stuff that screams or bites or moves.” He paused. “Maybe next time, you could show us something like unicorns. She might like unicorns.”

            “Yeh probably won’ be able ter get anywhere near it,” Hagrid cautioned him. “Unicorns like girls.”

            “But Rose would like them,” he said. “And I think Al would like to see one, even if he couldn’t get close to it.” He paused. “Or maybe even thestrals. I know we can’t see them, but it could be neat to touch something that you can’t see.”

            Hagrid nodded. “Yeh know, yeh’re probably right. Unicorns always seem ter like girls, and girls always seem ter like unicorns.” He made a face. “I’ve always thought they were too borin’ ter care about, but…”

            “They are pretty animals,” Scorpius said. “At least, from the pictures in _Fantastic Beasts_. I’ve never seen a live one.”

            Hagrid brightened. “Yeh think Rose and Al will like it?”

            He nodded.

            “Then th’ next time I bring them out fer my O.W.L. class, I’ll show ‘em to yeh,” Hagrid promised.

            “Scorpius,” Rose called; she’d turned back about halfway up the hill to see that Scorpius wasn’t following. “We’ve got to get to dinner! Aren’t you hungry?”

            “I’m coming,” he replied. To Hagrid, he said, “Thanks for showing us Wispy,” one more time.

            “I’ll see yeh next week, Scorpius,” Hagrid said as Scorpius hurried to catch up with Rose and Al.

            They began the walk back to Hogwarts. As soon as they were out of Hagrid’s earshot, Rose said, “What if you’d gotten hurt?”

            “I couldn’t hurt Hagrid’s feelings. Besides, hippogriffs aren’t _that_ dangerous. A triple-X rating—”

            “Competent wizard should cope! I’m pretty sure that when Newt Scamander said ‘competent,’ he didn’t mean ‘first-year!’ And that’s only a ‘should,’ not ‘will definitely!’”

            “Rose, it’s not that bad,” Al tried to stick up for him. “I heard James say that sometimes he shows them to the fifth-years before O.W.L.s, just to show them what they’ll get if they take the N.E.W.T.”

            “I don’t even know if Hagrid qualifies as a competent wizard for some of the stuff he tackles,” Rose worried. “You know, Norbert is actually Norberta? He had that dragon for weeks and didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl!”

            “A dragon is different from a hippogriff, Rose. You trust Hagrid,” Al chided her. “He’s good at teaching. He wouldn’t do anything to Scorpius.”

            “Not on purpose, but…” Rose was still worried. “What if something had happened to you? What if Hagrid had made you ride it?”

            “Then I would’ve hung on really tight.”

            “But if you got hurt—”

            “I wouldn’t have told my parents.”

            “But if you’d really gotten hurt—”

            “I would’ve told my parents I’d fallen off the top of the Astronomy tower or something, or that I’d taken my broom up too high during flying lessons. I wouldn’t tell on Hagrid. I wouldn’t get him in trouble,” Scorpius said defensively. “I’m not my dad.”

            “I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t,” Rose said. “It’s just...what if you couldn’t cover it up?”

            “That’s why I didn’t say yes. I wouldn’t have said yes.”

            “You were considering it.”

            Al shook his head. “I can’t believe you went anywhere near it. I mean, Mum and Dad would totally have understood if we’d hurt Hagrid’s feelings because we wouldn’t go near a hippogriff. We could tell them we didn’t want to get Hagrid in trouble, especially after all the stories they told us about what happened during their third year.”

            “First year is too soon to be showing people hippogriffs,” Rose said. “Third year was too soon.”

            “I really, really, really don’t want to take Care of Magical Creatures,” Al said.

            “I don’t think we have any choice. Your parents and mine both took it with Hagrid through the O.W.L. level when they were at school, and Teddy, Victoire, Missy, and John all took it through fifth year too, and you know that James, Rommy, Fabian, and Gideon are all taking it next year. So we’ve got to take it at least at the O.W.L. level. Mum and Dad will understand if we opt out at the N.E.W.T. level, but not the O.W.L.”

            “I wish I could take N.E.W.T.-level Care of Magical Creatures,” Scorpius said. “It’ll be a miracle if Mum and Dad let me take it at all.”

            “What does it matter? Hagrid’s going to show you everything the N.E.W.T. students get to see and then some. You know, the seventh-years only get to learn about the hippogriffs – how many of his N.E.W.T. students do you think Hagrid’s offered a hippogriff ride to?”

            “Knowing Hagrid? All of them,” Al interrupted.

            “Al’s right,” Scorpius chorused. “He would’ve put all three of us on Wispy today, if you’d let him.”

            “Wispy,” Rose sighed. “Think he’ll show them to James and them tomorrow?”  

            “He’ll probably be bragging about a hippogriff ride by Sunday,” Al said. He looked with trepidation towards the castle; they were nearing the doors.

            “Do you want to come and eat with us?” Scorpius offered.

            “Yeah, is James giving you a hard time again?”

            “Kind of,” Al admitted after a long moment. “It’s no big deal. And the weekends are fine – I can spend them with you. Even the weekdays aren’t so bad, I guess.” He sighed. “But we can’t ever have fun in the library, and there’s nowhere else to go on weekdays. I wish that we had a common common room.”

            “A common common room?” Scorpius repeated.

            “You know, one that didn’t belong to one House or another. Somewhere where we could just meet to play chess or talk or play with some of Uncle Fred and Uncle George’s Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes stuff.”

            “The Room of Requirement would probably work,” Rose said.

            “It still exists?” Scorpius asked. He’d once asked his dad about it, having read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_ , but his father had gone very quiet and then told him that it had been destroyed in the war. After that, like everything relating to the war, the subject had been taboo in the Malfoy house. “Wasn’t – wasn’t it ruined in the Battle of Hogwarts?”

            Rose looked surprised. “They thought it was, for a long time,” she said. “Mum told me that, after the war, they went looking for it, to try to repair it, and no one could find it. It wasn’t until fifteen years after the war that someone discovered it again – a second-year was looking for a place to get away from a group of fifth-years who were bullying him, and he found it, good as new. I guess it had old magic that even the Darkest magic couldn’t destroy. Maybe it repaired itself, and just needed the time.”

            “Oh,” Scorpius said. Part of him wanted to know what kind of Dark magic had damaged the Room in the first place, but another part of him held back, out of fear that his dad had been the one to cast it.             

            Rose, unaware of his thoughts, went on. “I don’t think anyone really uses it for anything now, except the seventh-years’ end-of-year party, and that’s only if they actually have one.”   
            This drew Scorpius’s attention again. “What party? The seventh-years get a party? I’ve only ever heard of the farewell feast.”

            “That’s because, until last year, there was only the farewell feast. Teddy started it,” Rose said. “He wanted to make it a new tradition.”

            “Teddy Lupin,” Al added. “He’s my dad’s godson.”

            “Rommy and Missy’s older brother,” Rose added. “He was actually born during the war – he’s that old.”  

            “His party was all James could talk about when he got home last year. He said it was brilliant.”

            “Even if he only found out about it the morning afterwards,” Rose pointed out. “Only seventh-years were invited, and probably only half of them found out about it at all – it was kind of impromptu.” To Scorpius, she explained, “Teddy was Head Boy last year. He found out about the Room of Requirement, and he and a couple of his friends threw an all-night party for the seventh years after the farewell feast. They all stayed up all night partying and spent half the morning packing frantically. A lot of people had to have stuff mailed to them over the summer, and Teddy says he thinks that the Room of Requirement might have a ton of clutter to clear out before this year’s seventh-years can use it.”

            “Teddy said they had so much fun that it should be a yearly thing,” Al added. “He was trying to get Victoire to promise to hold the party this year if the Head Boy and Girl wouldn’t.”

            “Who _are_ the Head Boy and Girl this year?” Rose asked.

            Al shrugged. “I don’t really know who any of the older students are. Victoire’s not even a prefect.”

            “I hope they do it!”  

            “I think they will. You know Victoire will promise to do it for Teddy – I wonder if that’s why he was snogging her on the platform?”

            “I doubt it,” Rose laughed.

            “—and he’ll make Missy promise to do it for her year, if nobody else wants to,” finished Al.       

            “Victoire and Missy,” Rose laughed. “Do they really seem like the most promising organizers of a crazy all-night party?”

            “Victoire could. She’s popular, and her friends will help. And Missy is good at organizing things and has friends who can help.”

            “But is she the all-night party type?”

            “Teddy will make her,” Al said confidently.

            “Well, if they don’t keep up the tradition, we’ll bring it back,” Rose conceded, grinning.

            “I think James’ll beat you to it. It was all he could talk about when he got home from school last summer.”

            At the mention of James, Rose changed the subject. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, sounding a little sullen. “The Room is what I care about. The seventh-year party is the only time the Room of Requirement gets used on a regular basis, and most people probably think it was destroyed or never knew about it in the first place. If we could find it, we could use it as a common common room, just for us, at least.”

            “We can spend the weekend looking for it,” Al suggested. “If we could find it, we could have a whole room all to ourselves – somewhere where we wouldn’t have to worry about James and his friends finding us.” He paused. “D’you know what they’re calling themselves now?”

            “Arrogant little berks?”

            Scorpius laughed, but Al didn’t. “The New Marauders.”

            Scorpius didn’t understand the reference, though Rose apparently did. “James is so stupid,” she said. “Doesn’t he remember that one of the original Marauders was a traitor?”

            “He says they’ll be like them, but better,” Al said.

            She shook her head. “I can’t believe them. The New Marauders.” Without waiting for Scorpius to ask, she turned to him and explained, “The Marauders were what Al’s Granddad Potter, Rommy’s dad, Al’s dad’s godfather, and another friend of theirs called themselves when they were at Hogwarts. Sirius – Al’s dad’s godfather, James’s middle name is after him – was framed for murder by their other friend, Peter, who gave Al’s Gran and Granddad Potter up to Lord Voldemort. He’s the main reason Uncle Harry grew up an orphan.” She blew air out through her lips, exasperated. “I take it James gets to be Prongs and Rommy’s Moony. So have Fabian and Gideon decided who gets to be Wormtail yet?”

            “I don’t think they’ve given themselves the nicknames,” Al said tentatively. “But they’re saying that they’re a group of four Gryffindor friends, just like the Marauders, and that they’re real Gryffindors, and—”

            “—all that rubbish,” Rose finished, snorting. “They’re real Gryffindors, and you’re not, because you’re friends with me and Scorpius.” She paused, thinking. “Well, the next time they tell you they’re the Marauders, you come right back and tell James that you’re even better – tell him you’re just like Uncle Harry.”

            “What?”

            “Uncle Harry had two best friends at school, right? Mum and Dad. So we’re like them.”

            “You know, Aunt Hermione is really smart, just like you’re really smart,” Al said slowly, then shook his head. “No. I’m not anything like Dad.”

            “Aside from looking just like him? You look more like him than James, even.”

            “Looking like him isn’t good enough. I’m not as brave—”

            “You’re Gryffindor, just like him,” Rose shot back. “You wouldn’t be Gryffindor if you weren’t. If James wants to start throwing around comparisons, let him. Just make sure that he knows that he can be as much like your Granddad Potter as he wants, you’re just like Uncle Harry himself – and Uncle Harry beat Lord Voldemort.”

            “But I’m not! And he’s not! I don’t understand why he has to make all these stupid comparisons,” Al said; they were now within feet of the castle entrance, but had stopped to talk. None of them were quite ready for dinner yet. “We aren’t Dad or Granddad, and you’re not Aunt Hermione, and Scorpius isn’t his dad, either. You’ve been saying that for weeks.”

            “You know he isn’t!”

            “I’m not trying to say he is! I’m just trying to say that none of us are them,” Al said. He paused, biting his lip. “I’m nowhere near as good as my dad. I’m never going to be as good as him.”

            “Yes, you will,” Rose said fiercely. “You’ll be every bit as good as he is, in your own way. You don’t have to be an Auror; you might be Minister of Magic, or Headmaster of Hogwarts, or an Unspeakable, or a Curse-Breaker, or something that’s just as good.”

            “But in my own way,” Al repeated. “I don’t like it when other people try to compare me to Dad; there’s no way I’d ever try to do it myself. But James does it constantly, and I’m so sick of it. If he’d just accept that things don’t have to be like they were—”

Rose nodded.

            “It must be hard,” Scorpius said sympathetically. He’d had a hard enough time growing up a Malfoy, but now that he thought about it, it must be just as hard to grow up as the child of Harry Potter. It was true, he wouldn’t have ever had to face any of the automatic hatred or disdain that Scorpius had, but Scorpius could imagine that it was bad enough, growing up the son of the famous Harry Potter, the man who had finally defeated the Dark Lord. How could Al ever hope to surpass him?

            _It’s a lot to live up to_ , Scorpius thought. Scorpius had spent his entire life trying to meet his parents’ expectations while defying everyone else’s; Al had to try to surpass everyone’s expectations for the son of The Boy Who Lived. Al’s father had a reputation Al had to try to live up to, while Scorpius had a father whose reputation he was trying to live down.

            “Hard? For Al?” Rose snorted, but Al was nodding, looking gratefully at Scorpius.

            “I know what you mean,” Scorpius explained. “It would be easier if…” He shrugged. “If your last name wasn’t Potter, and you didn’t look so much like your dad.” With the appropriate substitution of a last name, he could have been describing himself.  

            Al grinned. “Yeah.”

            Rose rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m hungry. Come on.”

            They headed into the Great Hall. Dinner was already on the table.

            “We’ll look for the Room of Requirement tomorrow?” Al asked.

            “Yeah,” Rose said.

            “It would be so much easier if I had that map of the castle.”

            “The Marauders’ Map?” Rose asked. A relic of the original Marauders, the last she knew of it, it had been in the possession of her Uncle Harry.

            “Yeah. James got hold of it before his first year – he said he got into Dad’s desk. I don’t think Dad knows he’s got it, though.”

            “Do you think if we wrote him, he’d take it away?”

            “I don’t know. I don’t want to snitch,” Al said. “I kind of wonder if Dad didn’t mean to give it to him, anyway. I mean, I don’t know how he could’ve gotten into Dad’s desk otherwise.”  

            Rose sighed. “Too bad. We could use it.”

            “I’m sure James uses it more,” Al said. “If Dad gave it to him, I guess that’s why; he figured he’d use it more.”  

            “That, and he’s the oldest and everything,” Rose agreed, then paused. “Does the Room of Requirement even appear on that map?”

            “I don’t know. James won’t let me see it.”

            “Well, we’ll just have to find it ourselves.” 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise, this isn't abandoned! Al, Scorpius, and Rose continue their quest to find a place to hang out - but what problems is it causing for Rose and Al?

 

For the next two weeks, they spent most of their free time looking for the room. Rose remembered from her parents’ stories where they’d found it, on the seventh floor opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to dance ballet. But they couldn’t find the tapestry; apparently, the Hogwarts décor had changed in the nineteen years since their parents had been at school. 

So they tried to find patches of blank wall, walking up and down the corridors, going back and forth, thinking very hard of a place they could spend free time in, away from James, Rommy, Fabian, and Gideon. 

“This must’ve been what it was like just after the war,” Rose said. “When they went looking for it, and couldn’t find it.” She kicked at the wall. “Except that we know it’s there.” 

“Think harder,” Al urged her. “Think about exactly what we need.” 

“I know, I know.” Rose paused. “You don’t think someone’s already in there right now, do you? If they were, we wouldn’t be able to get in.” 

“We’ve been looking every night,” Scorpius objected. “I don’t think someone’s in there all the time.” 

“Then we must be looking in the wrong place,” said Al. 

“We’ve been all over the seventh floor!”

“ _Specialis Revelio_ ,” Scorpius said, tapping at a random place on the wall with his wand. “ _Aparecium. Alohomora_. Um…” 

“It’s not going to help,” Rose told him. “The only way you get into the Room of Requirement is by thinking about it. You can’t make it reveal itself if it doesn’t want to be found. Otherwise, the D.A. would never have been able to survive there.” 

“We’re never going to find it,” Al said. He hesitated. “Maybe we don’t need it enough. Maybe it doesn’t want to be found.” 

“What? It wanted to be found when Teddy needed it for a party, but it doesn’t want to give us a place to hang out together?” Rose snorted. “No. There’s got to be another reason.” 

“We’ll have to look another night,” Scorpius said. “It’s getting late, and I’ve still got to finish our Transfiguration essay. You’ve still got another six inches on it, don’t you, Rose?” 

“Yeah,” she said. 

“Finish? I haven’t started,” Al said at the same time, looking a little sheepish. “And I haven’t done our History of Magic reading yet, either.” 

“That’s going to take you a while,” Rose said. “We’d better go do some work.” 

“We’re never going to find it,” Al said dejectedly. 

“Al, you should ask Missy and Victoire about it the next time you see them,” Rose decided. 

“Why them?” Scorpius asked. 

“Missy knows everything, and I think that Victoire went to the seventh-years’ party. I mean, she’s dating Teddy; I think he would’ve let her come.” 

“Yeah, probably,” agreed Al. “But why don’t you ask them?” 

“You’re in their House. You’ll probably see them before I will.” Rose rolled her eyes. “Besides, it’s just Missy and Victoire we’re talking about. It’s not like they’re intimidating. They’ll tell you, if they know; I’m sure of it.” 

Al nodded. “And if they don’t know?” 

“We’ll have to think of a new plan. I don’t want to spend all our free time looking for somewhere to hang out – I’d rather just be hanging out together.” 

So Al went back to the Gryffindor common room, wishing that he could take Scorpius and Rose with him. Missy was the first of the two he saw: hanging out in a corner with two of her best friends, watching their chess game. 

“Take his rook, Jules,” she was saying to a round-faced girl. “That’ll set you up to put him in check three moves from now.” 

“I hate chess,” Jules complained, but did as Missy said. The boy playing her made a face. 

“C’mon, Missy, don’t help her out like that,” he complained good-naturedly. 

“What kind of fun would it be if I let you flatten her?” Missy replied, then added with a grin, “And if you ask nicely, I might even tell you how to get out of check. That should make it an interesting game.” 

“It’d be more interesting if it was me playing Jules and not you playing yourself.” 

“If that’s the way you want it…” Missy grinned. “Without me to show you how to get yourself out of check, I’ll bet you she wins in five moves.” 

“Missy,” her friend whined as Jules moved her chess piece. 

“Oh, come on, Dom,” Missy began to reply, then caught sight of Al. “Al. What is it?” She looked around. “Don’t tell me Rommy and James have some new scheme. Rommy just got in trouble for trying to Transfigure Ricky Atherton’s toad. You really don’t want to know what I think they were going to do to it.”

“No,” Al said quickly. “It’s nothing like that.” He paused. “I was just wondering if you knew where the Room of Requirement was.” 

“Somewhere up on the seventh floor,” Missy said vaguely. “Teddy would know better than I would. It was his party, after all.” In response to Al’s questioning gaze, she said, “I wasn’t invited. I’m not really a party person anyway.” 

“Oh.” Al must have looked as disappointed as he felt, because Missy looked at him quizzically. 

“What do you want with the Room of Requirement anyway?”

Al paused, then explained. 

“Hm…you’re right, it is hard to find a place where a group of students from different Houses can get together,” Missy said. “I mean, once you hit third year, there’s Hogsmeade visits, and then in sixth year, there’s the Slug Club, but…yeah, I see what you mean. It’s hard, especially on weekdays, and especially if you’re not doing something specifically academic, like Charms Club or the Young Astronomers’ Society. There’s always the library, but—”

“We can’t play there,” Al said. “What d’you think Madam Pince-Filch would do if we started playing Exploding Snap in the library?” 

Missy stifled a laugh, then smiled sympathetically. “I know what you mean.” Blushing slightly, she added, “Drew and I have been trying to find places to get together, but we never thought about trying to use the Room of Requirement for that. I mean, there are plenty of extra classrooms and that around school that no one uses, and we’ve usually been able to find one of those to sneak into.”

“But if we snuck into one somewhere, I’m sure James would find us,” Al said, “and he’s still giving Rose and Scorpius a hard time.” 

“Still?” 

Al nodded. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to talk to Rommy, to get him to shape up, but I’d be lying to you if I said I thought it would make any difference.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what Dad’s going to do about him. Rommy, your brother, Fabian, Gideon…” 

“It’s all right,” Al said; he knew too well what sorts of trouble his brother was capable of getting into. “Thanks anyway. I…do you think James would know? I mean, he’s got the Marauder’s Map.” 

“That map doesn’t have the Room of Requirement on it,” Missy said, looking surprised. “Didn’t you know? The Room’s Unplottable. You can’t put it on a map, not even the Marauder’s Map. Dad’s mentioned it. Hasn’t yours?” 

Al didn’t remember, but at least he felt better about one thing: James’s map wouldn’t have helped them with anything. 

And it made him feel better on another count: if he, Rose, and Scorpius did find the Room of Requirement, James wouldn’t be able to find them there. 

_He won’t even know we’re meeting up,_ Al thought. It was something of a consolation, although the consolation was dependent on actually finding the Room. _Hopefully, Victoire can help._

He didn’t see his cousin until the next morning, at breakfast. She was with a large group of seventh-year girls: Victoire Weasley was one of the most popular Gryffindors in their year. 

“Victoire?” Al asked. 

Victoire looked up. “Al. What is it?” 

“I was wondering if you knew where the Room of Requirement was,” he said. This drew stares from all Victoire’s friends. “I mean, I thought you might’ve gone to Teddy’s party last year…” 

“It’s up on the seventh floor,” Victoire said. 

“But where? And how do you get in?” 

“You have to need it.” Victoire waved a hand. “Really need it. I don’t know how you think the right way, exactly; Teddy was good at getting it to open, but I haven’t been able to get it yet.” 

“You’d better,” one of her friends said. “If we’re going to throw a party to beat Teddy’s…” 

“Don’t tell him where it is, anyway,” one of her other friends added. “We don’t want any first-years gate-crashing.” 

“I won’t crash your party, I promise, I just want to know where it is.” 

“It’s on the seventh floor,” Victoire repeated. “It’s not hard to find the place where the door should be; it’s just a big space of blank wall on one side of the hall. Besides, if you think about it right, the Room will open itself up, and you won’t have to do anything else. It’ll be right there.” 

“But where is it? I mean, what paintings is it near? Is there some way I’ll know I’m walking by the right place? Could you show me?” 

“I don’t think it matters, Al. It’s an ordinary patch of corridor, no portraits, just a big blank wall. It’s all a matter of thinking of things right…of asking right, I guess. You’ve got to be really specific.” 

Al sighed. His cousin wasn’t much help at all. “All right,” he said, sighing. “Thanks anyway.” 

“Any time,” Victoire said distractedly; one of her friends was saying something else about Teddy and his party. 

By the time Al had a chance to talk to Rose and Scorpius, during lunch, he was totally disheartened. “Nobody knows,” he said. “Or, at least, they won’t tell me.” 

“Won’t tell you? Why?” Scorpius asked. 

“Well, Missy genuinely doesn’t know, and Victoire is too busy to try to show us. I think she’s afraid that if she shows me where the Room is, we’ll try to go to her party at the end of this year.” 

Rose rolled her eyes. “She’s being an idiot, then.”

“I don’t think she did it on purpose. I just think she’s too busy to show me. I guess it is her N.E.W.T. year...” 

“Too busy with her friends to be bothered by her pesky first-year cousins is more like it,” said Rose, uncharitably. “I can understand her not wanting to hang out with us, but she could’ve taken the time to show you where it was.” 

“She said it didn’t matter so much where it was as that you asked nicely.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Rose said, then hesitated. 

“What?” Scorpius asked, picking up on her silence. 

“Well…” She looked to Al. “Mum and Dad always said that Neville was the best with the Room of Requirement, that he was good at asking for exactly what he needed. He could get the Room to open up for him, and he could get it to do whatever he wanted it to do. But…”

“Neville likes you,” Al protested, although he felt a twisting sensation in his stomach as he spoke. He couldn’t really say it and believe it was true; although he hadn’t seen Professor Longbottom actually be mean towards Rose, he did spend most of Herbology ignoring her. When he came to their Herbology table to comment on their work, it was always Al he talked to most; although some of the time he said a few words to Rose, he usually passed over her, and he never talked to Scorpius. 

I don’t think he even looks at Scorpius most of the time, Al thought, and Scorpius is one of the best students in the class. Certainly, he showed more enthusiasm for the subject than Rose. 

“Will you ask him? He likes you, Al. I think you’re his favorite student.” 

“You are,” Scorpius chorused. 

“He’s not going to talk to either of us,” Rose continued. “If you asked him, maybe he’d show you how it worked.” 

“All right,” Al agreed. He supposed it couldn’t hurt. “Should I do it in class?” 

“Maybe afterwards, right when we’re just getting out,” Rose said. “Or maybe just talk to him the next time you see him, when he’s not busy – in the halls, or after dinner.” 

“He lives near the base of Gryffindor Tower, doesn’t he?” Al asked. He knew that Neville lived at school during the school year. 

“I think so,” said Rose. “Just…you talk to him, all right?” She hesitated. “And don’t tell him why you want to use it. If you do, he might not let you.” 

“Rose, that’s stupid,” Al started, but Scorpius was actually nodding. 

“Yeah, Al. I hate to say it, but I think she’s right. I mean, if you tell Professor Longbottom that the reason you want the room is so you can hang out with me…” He looked down. “I don’t think he’d tell you.” 

“He wouldn’t,” Rose agreed. 

“Then what should I tell him?” 

“I don’t know. Make something up.” 

“I’m not good at lying!” 

Rose sighed. “I’m sure you can think of something. Tell him you’re curious about it – I mean, after all, it is where he led the rebellion from for the better part of a year. Tell him you want to see the place where Dumbledore’s Army lived seventh year. Talk him up. Say, ‘Professor Longbottom, I’ve tried to find the Room of Requirement myself, but I can’t and I just really want to see it. How did you figure out where it was in the first place? How did you figure out how to get it to open up? I’ve read about it in the latest edition of Hogwarts, A History, and I’m really interested.” 

“That sounds like something you would say,” Al protested. 

“Well, figure out something like that for yourself. You could be curious about the place because you heard your dad talking about Dumbledore’s Army and how he taught his very own Defense Against the Dark Arts course inside of it, and how you’d like to see it for yourself.” 

“You’re Professor Longbottom’s favorite student,” Scorpius added. “He likes you. If he’s going to tell anyone how to get in, it’ll be you.” 

“I’m not his favorite,” Al began to protest, but Scorpius shook his head. 

“Are you kidding? It’s your favorite subject, you’re always raising your hand, and you’re really good at it. And your parents are friends with him. And you’re in his House. And I heard one of the Gryffindor girls – I think her name’s Penny – telling everyone that you’re teacher’s pet, and that you’re the only one Professor Longbottom ever notices.” 

“Penny said that?” Penny Johnson was one of the many Gryffindor girls in Al’s year; like Al, she was a solidly average student in all subjects save Herbology. 

“She did,” Scorpius said, nodding. 

“You’re always the one who gets extra House points,” Rose agreed. 

“And you always do extra inches on your Herbology essays,” Scorpius said. “I noticed that.” 

Al flushed a little red. “I don’t do it because I want Neville to like me,” he protested. “I – I just think it’s interesting, Herbology.” He felt comfortable in the greenhouses, unlike Potions, where Professor Slughorn was always singling him out for special attention, or in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he was trying to live up to the rest of his family’s reputations for dueling. 

_Mum, Dad, Gran, James…_ he thought. The list went on and on. On the other hand, the only person in his family who had obtained an ‘O’ in Herbology was his Aunt Hermione. In the greenhouses, he wasn’t under any sort of pressure to perform, and Neville never made him feel stupid or uncomfortable. 

_And I like it,_ he thought. There was something immensely satisfying about working with the plants, about figuring out how to make them thrive, without having to worry about saying an incantation in precisely the right way or flicking his wand with an exact motion. 

Rose took his thoughts for embarrassment and said, “Listen, Al, I know you don’t like Herbology because of Neville. But Neville likes you because you like Herbology. After what he heard me saying to Scorpius about it…” She blushed. 

Al sighed. “I’ll do it.”  

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Al wasn’t sure how to approach Neville; at first, he thought about doing it after class, hanging around the greenhouses while everyone else filed out, but he was foiled by Penny Johnson, who was lingering after class to talk to the professor.

            “If I’m going to get to History of Magic on time, I’ve got to leave before I can talk to him,” Al complained to Rose and Scorpius one Thursday evening before Dueling Club. “I don’t know why. She’s asking all these stupid questions she already knows the answers to, keeping him so busy I can’t ask him anything.”

            “Are you kidding?” Rose asked.

            “What?”

            “She’s trying to show Neville how hard she’s trying,” Rose said. “She wants him to like her.” She rolled her eyes. “And she wants to take up all his time so you don’t have time to talk to him.”

            “Well, it’s working,” said Al. “I can’t be late to History of Magic. Professor Wilkes would kill me.”

            “It’s too bad you don’t have our schedule,” Rose said. “We’ve got Potions right after Herbology. Professor Slughorn wouldn’t say anything if you missed half his class, as long as you apologized to him after. Maybe even if you didn’t. After all, you’re Albus Severus Potter.”

            Al shifted uncomfortably; Scorpius rose to his defense. “I wouldn’t like it either,” he said.

            Rose shrugged them off. “What’s it matter? If he wants to give you extra points for being Uncle Harry’s son, take ‘em. I’m sure he’s given Ravenclaw points just because I’m Mum’s daughter. I’m sure he does it for someone in every House; it balances out. And if he’d forgive you for being a little late to class one day because you just had to stay after and talk to another professor…” She sighed. “Oh, but your schedule is different from ours, isn't it? You don’t have Professor Slughorn after Herbology, you’ve got Professor Wilkes, and I’m pretty sure she’d use an Entrail-Expelling Curse on you if you were late.” Professor Wilkes was known for giving out Friday-night detentions to anyone who was even a few minutes tardy, no matter what the reason. The last time that Leonidas Gaskin had gotten detention, Al had heard Josh Leith crack a joke that if you were late to History of Magic, you _were_ history - and he'd ended up joining Leonidas that Friday. He'd heard the same thing from other Houses, too; whatever House Professor Wilkes had been in during her own time at Hogwarts, she didn't play favorites.

            And, despite being professor of History of Magic - and therefore knowing everything about what Harry Potter and all Al's relatives had done to help in the war - she didn't play favorites. Al had no doubt that, even if he had Neville write him some sort of note, he'd be sitting in Friday night detention with half a dozen other students if he was even five minutes late.

           He looked helplessly to Rose. “So what do I do? At this rate, it’ll take weeks before Penny stops hanging around.”

            “Weeks? I bet you it lasts the rest of the semester, or at least until Neville starts paying more attention to her in class. To tell you the truth, I think she’s got a crush on him. Nah, you’re going to have to try to find him some other time. Try to find his office or something. Or maybe check the greenhouses tomorrow, before you go to Hagrid’s. Or get him after dinner. I don’t know. There ought to be plenty of times you can find him.”

            So Al did his best. But, at first, he came up empty: Neville never seemed to frequent the office that had been assigned to him, and, on the first Friday that he tried lingering outside the greenhouses, one glance inside told Al that he’d better come back later: Neville had been otherwise occupied with extracting a seventh-year from the Flesh-Eating Floriferous that had apparently tried to devour him. He hadn’t found Neville that weekend, either: he wasn’t sure, but suspected that the professor might have chosen to leave Hogwarts on the weekends to visit his wife.

 _If I was him, I’d want to be with my family more than just over the holidays and summer,_ he thought. But he didn’t know what he could say to Rose: he was going to see her and Scorpius in the library for at least a little while that evening (Monday and Tuesday study sessions couldn’t last as long as their others, since Al had Astronomy practical lessons Monday night, Rose and Scorpius Tuesdays), and he couldn’t tell her anything.

            _Scorpius won’t mind as much,_ he thought, _but Rose will kill me. Well, that’s not exactly right._ Scorpius would be just as disappointed as Rose, but he wouldn’t say anything; Rose, on the other hand, would probably threaten to jinx him if he didn’t talk to Neville soon.

            He was still thinking about it when he nearly ran straight into the professor. “Ne-Professor Longbottom!” he exclaimed.

            “Al?” The professor sounded unusually surprised.

            “Professor Longbottom,” Al repeated.

            “Yes. That’s me. Al.” Professor Longbottom hesitated, then finally seemed to recover himself. “What are you doing here?”

            “I just gone done with flying lessons. I think I’m going to drop off my stuff back in Gryffindor Tower before I go to dinner.” Tuesdays were Gryffindor flying lessons with the Slytherins. This was another lesson Al hated: if his family was renowned for being good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, they were well-known for being even better with their brooms. Both the Weasley and Potter families had a storied history of producing well-known Quidditch players: Al’s Granddad Potter, Uncles Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron had all been Quidditch players at Hogwarts, and both his parents had excelled in the sport. His mother, now the Quidditch correspondent for the _Daily Prophet_ , had once been a professional Quidditch player, and his father had been the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in over a century. Between them, his relatives could have fielded an all-star Quidditch team; they’d been Beaters, Keepers, Seekers, and Chasers, all terrific at their respective positions, and his parents best of all.  

            _And I’m terrible_ , he thought. That wasn’t entirely true: Al was competent on a broom, and he hadn’t plowed into the castle, the ground, or the Whomping Willow, which placed him ahead of half a dozen others in his year. But he knew he wasn’t the natural star that so many others in his family had been.

            “Flying lessons,” repeated Professor Longbottom.

            “Yeah,” said Al. He hesitated. “That…that seventh-year…is he all right?”

            “What seventh-year?”

            “The one who was getting eaten by the Flesh-Eating Floriferous.” Al paused. “I tried stopping by the greenhouses Friday afternoon.”

            “He spent some time in the hospital wing, but he’ll be fine.” There was a slightly awkward moment before Neville added, “I should be letting you get back to the dormitories. It’s nearly time for dinner. But about broom lessons – how are you? Do you think you’ll be trying out for the team next year? I know your brother’s dying to get on.”            

            “I don’t know,” Al stammered. He didn’t want to think about Quidditch. “But – Professor – could I talk to you?”

            “Maybe in Herbology. I should be going,” Neville said. “I’m hungry too.”  

            Al blinked, then looked in the direction Neville was heading, away from the Great Hall. “Then why are you going back outside?”

            “I forgot something in one of the greenhouses. I’ll be late for dinner as it is.”

            “I’ve been trying to talk to you, but Penny’s been – I mean – can I just ask you a quick question?” Before Neville could reply, he blurted out, “Could you show me where the Room of Requirement is? I mean, everyone’s always said you’re so good at finding it and using it – and – if I really needed it, could you—”

            “The Room of Requirement?” Neville repeated, looking incredulous. “What do you want with that?”

            “I…” Al knew he should have listened to Rose and made up a lie, but he couldn’t. “I want to meet up with Rose and Scorpius somewhere. I mean, we’ve only got the library, and there’s nowhere else we can get together and do stuff, especially during weeknights.”

            He knew as soon as he said it that he’d said the wrong thing; Professor Longbottom’s manner grew cold. “You want to meet with Scorpius Malfoy?”

            There was something in the way that Neville said ‘Malfoy’ that reminded Al of how James said it. “I know that no one likes Scorpius, Professor, but if you’d just give him a chance, you’d find out he’s really nice—”

            “Nice?” Professor Longbottom seemed to catch himself, to realize that he was being too mean, and said more calmly, “If Rose wants to be friends with him, then that’s her business.” He hesitated, then said, “Of course – your parents have told you about Draco Malfoy, haven’t they?”

            “Yes,” Al said; he sounded a little more hostile than he’d intended, because he added, “Scorpius isn’t anything like his dad, Professor.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “I’m sure. He’s nice. Really, Professor. Ask Hagrid. Hagrid likes him a lot.”

           Neville looked astonished. “Hagrid likes him?”

            “Ask him. He’ll tell you. He’s been coming to tea with us on Fridays. Hagrid was ready to let him ride Wispywings.”

            Neville’s eyes widened. “He was going to let him ride Wispy?”

            “Yes,” Al said, feeling as if he was making headway; then, he recollected himself and added, “But Scorpius didn’t ride him, Professor, he didn’t want to get Hagrid in any trouble. He won’t, either, I promise.” He knew that Neville liked Hagrid; even if another professor might have gotten Hagrid in trouble for trying to put a first-year on a hippogriff, Al knew Neville wouldn’t.

            “Please, Professor,” he persisted. “If you could just give me a hint or two about how to find it…I just want to be able to spend some time with them,” Al persisted. “Otherwise I’m never going to see them.”  

            Neville hesitated for a moment; Al’s hopes rose. He felt sure the professor would say yes.

            But then, Neville shook his head, and Al’s heart sank. “Rose and Scorpius are friends, but at least they’re both in the same House. You’re in Gryffindor. Your House is your home. You should be making friends in your own House, not trying to be a Ravenclaw. You'll be happier that way." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Unless you think you’d rather be in Ravenclaw?”

            “No,” Al said immediately; Professor Longbottom looked satisfied. “I love Gryffindor, I really do. I’m glad the Sorting Hat put me there.”

            “Well, then isn’t there anyone you could be friends with instead? What about Josh and Eric? I’ve noticed you’re friendly with them. Or your brother and his friends – what about them?”

            “James won’t talk to me. James, Rommy, Fabian, Gideon – they won’t talk to me, because I’m friends with Rose and Scorpius.”

            “Maybe you should spend more time with them." 

            “James says he won’t be friends with me unless I hex them,” Al protested. “I can’t hex them. That wouldn’t be right.”

            Professor Longbottom sighed. “I’ll try talking to James. I’m sure that he won’t hold you to that.”

            “Are you sure?”

            Professor Longbottom nodded. “But you’ll promise me you’ll try to make friends in Gryffindor?”

            Al nodded. 

            “Good.” Professor Longbottom paused. “I’m sure you’ll make our House proud. The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason, and you'll figure it out.”

            “I’ll try.” Feeling brave, he added, “Professor, why do you think it put Rose in Ravenclaw?"

            There was a pause before Neville confessed, "I'm not sure. I'm not sure why it put - Scorpius - in that House, either." The hitch in his voice made Al nearly certain that the professor had almost used Scorpius's surname instead of his first name, and for a moment, Al felt as frustrated as Rose had been. 

             _I don't know what his father was like, but Scorpius is nice,_ he thought. He didn't say it aloud, though; instead, he ventured hopefully, "What about the Room of Requirement?”

            But Professor Longbottom’s look was so forbidding that Al’s heart sank. “Please?” he added.

            “Al,” Professor Longbottom said patiently, “if you’ll make friends in Gryffindor, you won’t need the Room of Requirement. You should be spending your time trying to make yourself a home in Gryffindor; get to know the other people in your year, not just Rose, not even just members of your own family. Think about your dad and his friends, or your granddad and his friends – were any of them outside of Gryffindor? And would your Uncle Ron have been half as happy at Hogwarts if he hadn't made friends with your dad and your Aunt Hermione?”

            There was only one answer to that. “No.”

            “Well, then.” Professor Longbottom straightened. “If that’s all, Al, I’ve got to be going. I’ve got to get to the greenhouses and then to the Great Hall, and I’m sure you want to eat, too. At the rate we’re going, we’re both going to miss dinner.”

            Al sighed. He knew Rose wasn’t going to be happy with him.

            _I should’ve lied_ , he thought. _But I didn’t want to._ He’d thought that Rose was wrong, that Neville wouldn’t mind they were hanging out together and wanted to use the Room of Requirement to meet up.

            But he’d been wrong, and now they were never going to find the Room of Requirement.

            _I should’ve lied, like Rose said_ , he thought again, feeling miserable. But he was a terrible liar, and lying to Neville just seemed wrong.

            _What was I supposed to do? I wish I was more like Rose,_ he thought. He was sure Rose would’ve gotten the information out of Neville without any difficulty. _Why wouldn’t she try? Neville likes her, too, I’m sure of it. He just thinks that we should have more friends, aside from each other. Different friends._

 _Friends who aren’t named Scorpius Malfoy,_ a little, niggling voice thought. He brushed it aside: in that, at least, he knew that Neville was wrong. _Everybody’s wrong. Scorpius is a good person._

            It didn’t make Rose any happier when he told her, in the library after dinner; her “You said _what_?” was so loud that Al had thought Madam Pince-Filch would chase them from the library. As it was, they drew a pinched, angry glare that made Al feel like someone had poured a gallon of iced Butterbeer down his back.

            “I just told him that I wanted to see you,” he whispered as soon as Madam Pince-Filch had retreated, drawn away by a group of fourth-year Hufflepuffs who had broken into noisy giggles. “I didn’t think he’d mind. I still don’t think he hates you.”

            “Then what did he say?”

            “He said that our Houses are like our families, and that he wants me to try to make friends in my own House.”

            “So he tried to talk you out of being friends with Scorpius – and me?” Rose sounded both surprised and hurt.

            “He didn’t tell me to stay away from you, exactly,” Al fumbled, realizing too late that he should have chosen his words more carefully.

            “But he told you to get friends in your own House. That you should be hanging around more with Gryffindors and less with us.”

            “Well…” Al looked down at _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ , trying to figure out how to deny that those were nearly the exact words Neville had spoken.

            “He did, didn’t he?”

            “He doesn’t have a problem with you, Rose. Just that…you’re not in Gryffindor.” He realized again, too late, that the words sounded wrong. “I mean—the problem isn’t you, it’s—”         

“That I’m in Ravenclaw. That I’m not a real Weasley, like the rest of our family. That I’m friends with Scorpius.” 

            “Maybe he won’t mind that so much now.” Al looked over to Scorpius. “I told him that Hagrid likes you. He seemed really surprised. I think that Neville and Hagrid get along, so maybe Hagrid can change his mind.”

            “I hope he can,” Rose said, “because otherwise, we’re never getting into the Room.” She paused. “But even if he does, I bet it takes weeks. I don’t want to have to wait that long.”

            “So what are we supposed to do? Go back to looking for the Room in our spare time?”

            “No. We’ve tried that long enough,” Rose said. She looked to Al. “I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

            “What’s that?”

            “You’ve got to spend some time in the Ravenclaw common room.”  

            Al’s reaction was immediate. “I couldn’t!”

            “Nobody would mind,” Rose said. “Ciaran and Aspasia both like you. Ciaran says you’re a great dueling partner, and Aspasia would’ve let you into our common room our first day at Hogwarts, if you’d let her.”

            “I can’t,” he protested. 

            “Why?”

            “Would you go into the Gryffindor common room, if I gave you the password?”

            Rose hesitated.

            “Well?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he said, “Don’t you understand? It’s the same reason I can’t go to the Ravenclaw common room. It’s not mine. The prefects tell us not to let anybody outside our House know the password.” Al lowered his voice, mimicking Missy’s male Gryffindor counterpart, a burly seventh-year with a booming baritone. “No one from another House has entered the Gryffindor common room in more than five hundred years. Do you want to be the one responsible for breaking that record?”

            Rose shook her head. “That’s not why I won’t go – I’m not afraid of your prefects, and I don’t care about keeping some stupid House secrecy record. I’d find a way into your common room if I didn’t think James would kill me.”

            “Remember the night we got here? We even had that question about why Rowena Ravenclaw used a question instead of a password,” Scorpius said. “I don’t think that Rowena Ravenclaw would have minded if someone from another House was smart enough to figure out her riddles, and if she wouldn’t have minded, I don’t think Professor Flitwick could. So you could come and visit us, Al.”

             “Only if you come visit me in the Gryffindor common room first,” he said. “I want you to see what it looks like, Rose. And maybe if you go, James will—”

            “—put me in the hospital wing?”

            “No! Maybe he’ll realize how stupid he’s being. Besides, I know you want to see it. Aren’t you curious?”

            Rose hesitated, and Al knew that she was.

            “Then you should come.” He looked over to Scorpius. “Both of you.”

            Scorpius held up his hands. “No way.”

            “You’re brave enough to think about hopping on Wispywings, but you don’t want to sneak into my common room?”

            “I’m not stupid,” Scorpius said. “I think James, Fabian, Gideon, and Rommy are more likely to hurt me than Wispy was.”

            “That’s probably true,” Rose said. She looked to her cousin. “Don’t push your luck, at least not the first time. I’ll go visit you, and then, if we don’t get in trouble, you can come and visit us in the Ravenclaw common room.”

            “All right,” Al agreed. He paused, looking to Scorpius. “You’re sure you don’t want to come?”

            “Do you really want me to have to write my parents saying that the reason I got sent to St. Mungo’s was that I tried sneaking into the Gryffindor common room? Do you even want to try to come up with a good reason why I wanted to be there?”

            “You were trying to pull off a prank? Trying to drape the Gryffindor common room in green and silver?”

            “That’s something someone like James might try, but me?” 

            “Point taken,” Rose said. “Sorry.”

            “It’s no big deal. I’ve got a book or two in my trunk to read.”

            “What? _Fantastic Beasts_ for the fifty-seventh time?” Rose paused. “And no trying to sneak down to Hagrid without us. If I hear you’ve taken your life into your hands and asked Hagrid for a ride on Wispywings…”

            Al grinned; Scorpius had suddenly gotten a rather wistful look on his face. “Don’t give him any ideas.”

            “Don’t try it,” Rose repeated. “I swear, Scorpius, I’ll hex you into next month if I hear you’ve been anywhere near that hippogriff.”

            “Hagrid can’t keep a secret,” Al warned him.

            “I’m not going to try.” He must not have sounded convincing, because Rose gave him such a look that he said, “I won’t, I won’t, I promise.”

            “But would you swear an Unbreakable Vow on it?” Al teased him. “Rose would make you do one, too.”

            “I know.”

            “What night do you want to try?”

            “I figured maybe tomorrow?” Rose asked. “I need to be back to the Ravenclaw dorm by curfew. It’s either that or Friday, but if I go with you tomorrow, you can spend Friday night with us in Ravenclaw – and maybe the rest of the weekend, too.”

            “Assuming we don’t get caught.”

            “I’m telling you, we won’t get in trouble. At least, you won’t – we’ll see if James and his friends hex me to death the minute I step inside.”

            “I’ll tell Missy you’re coming,” he said. “She won’t let them hex you.”

            “Are you sure Missy will let you? She’s a prefect, and I’m pretty sure this is against the rules,” Scorpius began. “What if she does mind? Rose could get in real trouble.”

            “No, I won’t, because if she doesn’t want to come, she’ll tell Al straight-out,” Rose said. “She wouldn’t let me come into Gryffindor Tower and then get me in trouble for it.” She paused. “But you’re right; she might stop me. Maybe we shouldn’t tell her.”

            “And then what happens if James tries something?”

            “It’s your common room. You’re bound to have a prefect around. Somebody will stop him.”

            “What if they don’t? What if no one’s around? Or what if they think you deserve it, for sneaking in?” 

            “That’s stupid, Al. Someone would stop him.”

            “But if—”

            “I’m not scared of James,” Rose said.

            “I know you’re not,” Scorpius spoke up. “But I think it would be better if you let Al tell Missy you’re coming.”

            “See?” Al said. “Scorpius thinks so too.”

            “All right,” Rose agreed reluctantly, seeing both her friends set against her. “You tell her tomorrow at dinner, Al. After dinner, we’ll meet at the door to the Great Hall, and we’ll go up to Gryffindor Tower together.”

            “Okay,” Al said.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea, Al,” Artemisia Lupin said. “Rose coming into Gryffindor Tower—”

            “She really wants to see what our common room looks like. And she’s not going to bring Scorpius with her.”

            “It’s against the rules for members of one House to be in another House’s common room,” Missy began. “That’s why there are passwords in the first place, to keep members of other Houses out. It’s been hundreds of years since another student’s managed to get into a common room that wasn’t their own.”

            “No, it hasn’t. Dad did it. Haven’t you ever heard about the time that Uncle Ron and Dad snuck into the Slytherin common room?”

            “Well, officially, nobody’s been in the common room of another House in hundreds of years,” Missy amended. “Besides, they broke about a thousand school rules in the process – and a few laws besides. Impersonating someone using Polyjuice Potion, knocking out two of their fellow classmates using drugged food, stealing a password…if they ever should have been expelled, it wasn’t for flying a Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow, it was for that.”

            “But we’re not going to do any of that. I just want to let Rose in for a look around. She wants to see what it looks like. It’ll be just this once, Missy, and you don’t have to tell anyone. I’m sure nobody will even notice.”

            “Nobody? Including your brother?”

            “Which is why I wanted to tell you first,” he said. “You can make sure that James doesn’t try to hex Rose. Or me.”  

            Missy sighed. “If I don’t agree with you, you’re going to try it some night when I’m not around, aren’t you?”

            “Of course we—”

            “Of course you would,” Missy finished, although Al had been about to protest. “You’re Harry Potter’s son, all right, you and James both. I’m glad I’ll graduate before Lily gets here – I’d hate to have to try to deal with all three of you at once.” She sighed. “I’ll cover for you. Nobody should really notice another Weasley in the Gryffindor common room, anyway, especially not if you don’t stay too long.”

            “What about James?”

            “That won’t be a problem.”

            “Won’t be a problem? You don’t think James will have a problem with it?” Al couldn’t help staring at Missy; he knew she was a natural optimist, but even Al thought that was stretching things.

            “No, it won’t be a problem because James won’t be around to see it. I should’ve told you that first – James has detention tonight, along with Fabian and Gideon. They tried to skive off Professor Wilkes’s class, and she found out.” She ran a hand through her hair. “At least Rommy stayed out of it this time. He’s too smart to even think about skiving off History of Magic – and besides, I think he actually likes the subject, unlike the rest of them. Now, if they’d talked about missing Astronomy, he might have done. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s star charts.” She gave a little half-smile. “Nobody inherited Dad’s lycanthropy, but Teddy and Rommy both inherited his aversion to Astronomy.”  

            “But if everybody else is in detention, it should be fine. I don’t think Rommy will do anything to Rose,” Al said, feeling optimistic.

            “Oh, I’ll make sure he won’t,” Missy promised. “I’ll make sure I’m in the common room all night, though, just in case the rest of them come back a little earlier than expected. I’m fully expecting Professor Wilkes to keep them until near-curfew, though. Fabian and Gideon already got in trouble in her class last week for setting off a Weasleys’ Wild-Fire Whiz-Bang while she was trying to lecture on Pepin the Portentous. I don’t even want to know how she’s punishing them.”

            “Lots and lots of reading, probably,” Al said. “Or extra homework projects. That’s what Professor Griffiths does. She gives you a bunch of extra work, all boring theoretical stuff, nothing practical. She says that essays and things that you can’t apply to real life are the worst work of all.”

            “How do you know that?” Missy asked, looking amused. “I doubt you’ve ever had detention with Professor Griffiths.”

            “I’ve heard James complaining about it. He’s gotten detention once or twice for not doing his homework.”

            “Which, given that Professor Griffiths gives the least written homework of any professor at Hogwarts, is saying something. Anyhow, I think Professor Wilkes will have moved beyond that with them,” Missy said. “She knows that they don’t care too much about their grades in her class; in fact, I think Fabian and Gideon would be happier if she just kicked them out. Neither of them wants a History of Magic O.W.L.” 

            “James doesn’t, either,” Al said. “All he cares about are Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration.”

            “In other words, the O.W.L.s he needs to become an Auror.”

            Al nodded.

            “Professor Wilkes knows it too, I don’t doubt.”

            Al nodded again; James had never made any attempt to hide his dislike for subjects he thought were useless. Astronomy and History of Magic both fell into that category, and, if Potions hadn’t been necessary to becoming an Auror, it would no doubt have been added to that list.  

            “Well, she’ll be keeping him all night. Bring Rose up as soon as you’re done eating.”

            Al was already finished eating. “Thanks, Missy.”

            “I suppose it’s not that big of a deal,” Missy said hesitantly, although there was a worried look in her eyes as she said it, as if she was already regretting having said yes. “I mean, Rose is as good as a Gryffindor, anyway. Neville can’t mind.”

            Al held his tongue, not wanting to say anything that would make Artemisia Lupin change her mind; instead, he hurried away to the Ravenclaw table, where Rose and Scorpius were waiting for him.

            “Well, what did she say?”

            “You can come up right after dinner. James isn’t going to be there tonight – he, Fabian, and Gideon all have detention.”

            “That’s great!” Rose enthused. “What did he do? Oh, I don’t care - he’s not going to be there, and you don’t think Rommy will do anything to us, will he?”

            “Are you kidding?”

            “Oh, you’re right. Missy would kill him,” Rose said. She stood. “I’m done eating.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “Can we go?”

            Al nodded. He looked to Scorpius. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along?”

            Scorpius nodded. “Absolutely.”

            “Have fun with _Fantastic Beasts_ ,” Rose said. 

            “I’m not reading _Fantastic Beasts_ ,” he replied, mustering some dignity. “I’m reading _A Comparative Assessment of Magical Education Throughout the World, Volume One: Schools of Europe and North America_. I’ve already finished Europe – I’m really glad my parents didn’t send me to Durmstrang – and I’m halfway through the American section.”

            “Anything interesting?” Al asked, although he couldn’t imagine reading such a book for fun.

 _That’s why Rose and Scorpius are in Ravenclaw_ , he reminded himself as Rose asked, completely seriously, “That sounds great! Can I borrow it once you’re done?”

            Scorpius nodded. “It _is_ great,” he enthused. “Right now, I’m reading about the Slidways School in Ann Arbor, Michigan – it’s actually a whole school that’s built _around_ a Muggle university.”

            “Around?”

            “Underneath it, for the most part. But there are a couple buildings in the university that lead into the Wizarding school, and whole buildings on the campus that are Unplottable or protected by different charms to keep Muggles from getting inside. The American schools are really different – most Wizarding schools in Europe are built in ancient castles, out in the countryside, but the Americans didn’t do that. In a lot of cases, they built their schools in cities, right alongside Muggles. And there’s only one Wizarding school for Britain, but there are four for America.” --start

            “Well, it’s so big,” said Rose, “you’d figure there would have to be more than one.”

            “There’s one on the East Coast, in Massachusetts – that’s the Salem Witches’ Institute – the Neverwhere School is on the West Coast, in Portland, Oregon, the Slidways School is in Ann Arbor, Michigan – that’s the Midwest – and there’s one in the South, in New Orleans, called the Colton College. The one in Salem is all girls, and Colton is all boys, but Neverwhere and Slidways are both coed. They’re all modeled after Hogwarts, at least to some extent – they’ve got Houses, and all of them they do a Sorting, just like we do. But there are differences – Neverwhere lets its students re-Sort themselves once a year, so they can go into another House if they feel like they’ve changed; Colton’s Houses share common rooms and dormitories, but all their classes are mixed; at Salem, there are five Houses instead of four; and at Slidways, the students Sort themselves, there’s no Sorting Hat or anything to divide them up.”

            “I like that last one,” said Al. It would have removed all his worries; he would have been saved at least a week’s worth of sleep, not to mention the nightmares he’d had where the Sorting Hat called out “SLYTHERIN!” or, even worse, “NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR ANY HOUSE! GO BACK HOME!”

            “I like the way Hogwarts does it better,” Scorpius said immediately. “If we’d had to choose straight out, I’d never have been able to explain to my parents why I picked Ravenclaw over Slytherin.”

            “And I would have had to pick Gryffindor,” agreed Rose. “The way the Sorting Hat does it is better.”

            “It knows things about us that we can’t know about ourselves, right?” Al asked thoughtfully. “It knew you’d be happier in Ravenclaw, and you wouldn’t have known that. So maybe it is better.”

            Rose and Scorpius were both silent, and Al thought about what his father had told him: that the Sorting Hat did take a person’s choice into account, if they knew to ask.

            _If I hadn’t asked it, where would it have put me?_ he asked himself. The question nagged at him, and he almost wished that his father hadn’t told him he could choose, that he would have left well enough alone and let the Sorting Hat place him wherever it thought best.

            _But what if it hadn’t put me in Gryffindor? What if it had put me in Slytherin?_ He thought about how James was currently treating Rose and shuddered; after all, Rose was only in Ravenclaw. He couldn’t imagine how James would have treated him if he’d become part of Slytherin.

            “Come on,” Rose said impatiently. “I want to see the common room. And, once I’ve visited you, you can’t have any excuse for not coming to visit us.”

            Al nodded.

            “I’ll see you later, all right?” Rose said to Scorpius. With that, she and Al set off for Gryffindor Tower.

            “Password?” asked the Fat Lady as they reached the top of the tower. She didn’t even give Rose a second glance; given that she was currently hosting a dinner party of ghosts, and that she looked a bit tipsy from the wine that was sloshing onto her gown, Al thought she’d probably seen the red hair and figured that Rose was just another Weasley.

            “Pygmy Puff,” Al replied; the door swung open.

            Rose hesitated.

            “Come on,” Al prodded her. “Are you coming or not? James isn’t going to be here.”

            “I’m not afraid of James,” said Rose, but she still hesitated. Al wondered if she finally realized why he’d objected to going to Ravenclaw Tower in the first place: it felt wrong to set foot in another House’s common room. He knew that, in the midst of the Ravenclaw common room, he would feel as if he didn’t belong.

            _Is that it? Is she worried she’s going to feel like she doesn’t belong in Gryffindor – like she doesn’t belong with the rest of our family?_ he wondered. “Come on,” he urged her, standing in the doorway. “You’ll like it.”

            She took a deep breath and finally nodded. “All right,” she agreed, then stepped through the door and into the common room.

            Al watched her look around at the space: her eyes took in the squashy chairs, the tables, the fireplace, the notice board. There were dozens of Gryffindor students in the space, some studying, others playing card games or chess; in one corner, two students were snogging. In another, one of Victoire’s friends was dozing despite the ambient noise level.

            Rose was looking around tentatively, as if she expected someone to notice and comment on her presence, but no one did. One or two people looked up, but no one seemed to care about a Ravenclaw in their midst – if anybody noticed, that was. Rose hadn’t worn her Ravenclaw robe into the common room.

            Rose was looking around intently, taking it all in. “Just like Mum and Dad always said,” she murmured. “Comfortable.”

            “But…” Al said, uncertain. For a moment, he wondered if this had been a good idea; what if Rose liked the Gryffindor common room better than the Ravenclaw one?

            _What if this only makes her wish she’d been in Gryffindor?_ Al wondered, watching Rose’s face. Rose had been protesting for weeks that she was happy she’d gotten Ravenclaw, had said it despite everyone’s reaction, but what if it wasn’t true?

 _I love Gryffindor, Al_ thought. Even James’s behavior couldn’t dampen the joy he felt at being a Gryffindor, at being in the same House as the rest of his family, with all the history that came from generations upon generations of Weasleys and Potters being in the House. What if Rose realized what she was missing?

            Al grew more and more worried as he realized he couldn’t place the look on Rose’s face. She was taking everything in, watching everyone, looking from the flickering fireplace to the red and gold wall hangings to some of the first-year Gryffindor girls who were huddled in a corner, giggling.

            “It’s nice,” Rose said finally.

            “But?” Al was nervous; it sounded like there was something Rose wasn’t telling him.

            She grinned, and Al’s worries dissolved. “I like the Ravenclaw common room better,” she whispered. “This – it’s everything Mum and Dad have always said it was, but…the Ravenclaw common room’s so much prettier. Our view is nicer…even our ceiling’s prettier.”

            Al looked up. “Your ceiling?” he asked; he’d never devoted any conscious thought to the Gryffindor common room’s ceiling. 

            “It’s so blue, like the night sky,” said Rose. “Ours, I mean. Yours is just kind of…there.” She looked around the room once more. “I definitely like the Ravenclaw common room better.”

            John Lupin came over. “Hi, Rose, Al,” he said. “I thought you’d probably come to visit sometime. How do you like our common room?”

            Rose gave him a slight smile. “Honestly?”

            “Honestly.”

            “I like Ravenclaw’s better.” Rose paused. “Although, I have to admit, giving a password would be easier than having to work out a password question.”

            “I always thought that sounded like fun,” John said. “Although I wonder who gets to think up those questions.”

            “Well, who gets to set the passwords for the other Houses?”

            “Professor Longbottom makes up the passwords for us,” he replied. “So does that mean Professor Flitwick gets to make up all the questions for Ravenclaw?”

            “I always thought that the knocker came up with them on its own. I mean, it comes up with a new question every time you go in or out. Professor Longbottom’s only got to change passwords once a day or so, maybe not even that, if he feels like it; I can’t imagine Professor Flitwick spends all his time making up password questions. He’d have to come up with a couple dozen a day!”

            “True,” John said, looking thoughtful. “Anyway, glad you stopped by. I’ve got some Arithmancy reading to finish up.” With that, he moved back to a sofa with the thick book he was carrying.

            Al looked to Rose. “So, what do you want to do?”

            “I don’t know. What do you want to do? We could just sit around and talk,” she suggested. “How long should I stay, anyway?”

            “Until James comes back?”

            “I should probably be gone before then, unless you want to see a duel.”

            “Missy won’t let him do anything.” Al looked around. “There she is,” he said. Missy Lupin had her feet propped up on one of the couches; although she looked engrossed in a book, Al noticed that she looked up from time to time, keeping a careful eye on Rose and Al, and that her hand never strayed too far from where her wand was casually tucked in a pocket.

            But she was cautious for nothing: James, Fabian, and Gideon were nowhere to be found, and none of the other Gryffindor students said anything. None of them seemed to care; Rose doubted that any of them even noted her presence. They were too engrossed in their own lives to care about two insignificant first-years.

            Rommy did see them; he was sitting alone, buried in an essay, but Al watched him as he looked up, saw his eyes widen. He made as if he was going to come over to them, but Missy intercepted him and started to lecture her younger brother. “They’re not bothering you,” Al caught, the strains of the conversation filtering across the room. “And they’re going to be meeting in the Ravenclaw common room from now on, so don’t you dare bother them. I’ll get Professor Longbottom to put you in detention if you do, I swear!”

            So Rommy didn’t come over, and Rose and Al remained unmolested in their little corner of the Gryffindor common room. They talked for a little bit, but conversation was stilted: without Scorpius, Al felt like there was something missing in the conversation. It was strange; he hadn’t yet known Scorpius Malfoy for two months (and, two months ago, would have found the idea of being friends with someone named ‘Scorpius Malfoy’ utterly ridiculous), but he missed him when he wasn’t around. Sometime in the past eight weeks, Al, Scorpius, and Rose’s friendship had solidified into something definite.

            _I wish he’d come with us,_ Al thought. He knew that Scorpius was right: it was too risky. But things weren’t the same without him; the conversation was stilted and difficult, and Rose kept breaking off to look around the common room, dropping into reverie.

            When it started to grow late, Al showed Rose around the first-year dormitory; since it was still early, no one was in the bedrooms, and Rose got to look at the red-upholstered beds. “It’s like the Ravenclaw bedrooms,” she said, “except that we’ve got blue hangings, and they’re lighter and prettier. And I think our view’s better. But you’ll have a chance to see it soon. We’ve got Dueling Club tomorrow night, so we can’t meet tomorrow, but maybe sometime this weekend we’ll be able to.”

            And then she was off again, spinning out plans even as Al escorted her out, breathing a sigh of relief.

            _That was easy,_ Al thought, feeling better as he gave the password to the Fat Lady and clambered back inside the Gryffindor common room. When he went to bed that night, it was with a profound sense of happiness: he had the feeling that life would soon become vastly better than it had been in some time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The North American school notes will probably be definitively AU, but I wanted to throw in a few homages here - to my university campus, which features a population weird enough that wizards wouldn't be noticed (and some gorgeous buildings straight out of Hogwarts - check out pictures of the University of Michigan Law Quad), to Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, and to the idea that North American wizarding schools might feature an entirely different way of blending into the population (especially since American wizards have been cited for being flamboyant/risking detection in other ways, like using Clabberts.) I probably won't get into details anywhere else in this work, but my headcanon features Salem and Colton being old-school bastions of tradition in the US, while Slidways and Neverwhere are a bit weirder. Also, I thought that they would use some sort of House system, since the idea and practices of Hogwarts would be heavily influential when Americans were setting up their own schools - but, of course, different Founders would likely value different things.


End file.
